This is a digital copy of a book that was preserved for generations on library shelves before it was carefully scanned by Google as part of a project
to make the world's books discoverable online.

It has survived long enough for the copyright to expire and the book to enter the public domain. A public domain book is one that was never subject
to copyright or whose legal copyright term has expired. Whether a book is in the public domain may vary country to country. Public domain books
are our gateways to the past, representing a wealth of history, culture and knowledge that's often difficult to discover.

Marks, notations and other marginalia present in the original volume will appear in this file - a reminder of this book's long journey from the
publisher to a library and finally to you.

Usage guidelines

Google is proud to partner with libraries to digitize public domain materials and make them widely accessible. Public domain books belong to the
public and we are merely their custodians. Nevertheless, this work is expensive, so in order to keep providing this resource, we have taken steps to
prevent abuse by commercial parties, including placing technical restrictions on automated querying.

We also ask that you:

+ Make non-commercial use of the files We designed Google Book Search for use by individuals, and we request that you use these files for
personal, non-commercial purposes.

+ Refrain from automated querying Do not send automated queries of any sort to Google's system: If you are conducting research on machine
translation, optical character recognition or other areas where access to a large amount of text is helpful, please contact us. We encourage the
use of public domain materials for these purposes and may be able to help.

+ Maintain attribution The Google "watermark" you see on each file is essential for informing people about this project and helping them find
additional materials through Google Book Search. Please do not remove it.

+ Keep it legal Whatever your use, remember that you are responsible for ensuring that what you are doing is legal. Do not assume that just
because we believe a book is in the public domain for users in the United States, that the work is also in the public domain for users in other
countries. Whether a book is still in copyright varies from country to country, and we can't offer guidance on whether any specific use of
any specific book is allowed. Please do not assume that a book's appearance in Google Book Search means it can be used in any manner
anywhere in the world. Copyright infringement liability can be quite severe.

About Google Book Search

Google's mission is to organize the world's information and to make it universally accessible and useful. Google Book Search helps readers
discover the world's books while helping authors and publishers reach new audiences. You can search through the full text of this book on the web

at|http : //books . google . com/

r^,} J?;! 76. 3 7

ELEMENTS

^^PHILOSOPHY

THE HUMAN MIND.

X

BT

DUGALD STEWART.

BBTISED AND ABBIDOB]>,

WITH CBITICAL AND EXPLANATOBY NOTES,

BOB THB USE OV COLLEOB8 AND 8GHOOL8.

By FRANCIS BOWEN,

uvoBB vsonwom ot moral amd orrxuiEOTUAL philosopht nr eaktabd ooumb

NEW KDmOH.

BOSTON: ^

WILLIAM H. DENNET
1866.

IV PREFACE.

or vindictive criticism. Those who controverted his
opinions have always spoken of him with much respect,
while his disciples appear to have regarded him, espe-
cially towards the close of his long and useful life, with
affectionate veneration.

His principal work, " The Elements of the Philoso-
phy of the Human Mind," has been frequently repub-
lished in this country, and hae been much used as a
text-book of instruction in metaphysical science in our
colleges and schools. When applied to such a purpose,
however, it must be admitted that it has many redun-
dancies and some defects: The style, with all its mer-
its, is somewhat diffuse, the digressions are numerous,
and the illustrations and citations from other authors,
more copious than the subject requires, or than the pa-
tience of the reader will always warrant. I have
pruned these superfluities with great freedom, my pur-
pose being to leave the statement of doctrine and the
course of the argument encumbered with no more ex-
traneous matter than seemed necessary for the entertain-
ment of the pupil. Mr. Stewart's caution in the state-
ment of his opinions may appear excessive, and it occa-
sionally betrays him into vagueness of expression and a
kind of indirect style, which leaves his meaning to be
ascertained rather by inference, than from the obvious
import of the language. He also takes for granted the
reader's acquaintance with the writings and opinions of
his more celebrated contemporaries and predecessors,
thus leaving many blanks to be filled by those who are
not particularly conversant with philosophical studies.
I have endeavored to supply some of these deficiencies
in the notes ; but wishing not to swell the dimensions
of the book, and at the same tirne to make it contain
as much as possible of Stewart's own speculations, I
have preferred silently to omit those passages which
stood in great need of annotation, instead of introduc-
ing them with a commentary which should seem dis-
proportioned in amount to the text. But these abridg-
ments have been very carefully made, and I hope it will
be found that they do not mar the continuity of the
work, or leave any gaps which may create obscurity.

PaSFACE. V

Whatever I have added to this edition, either in the
text or the notes, is inclosed in angular brackets, [ ],
BO that the reader may easily distinguish Mr. Stewart's
words from those of his commentator. For the conven-
ience both of teachers and learners, I have also given a
sort of analysis and abstract of the doctrines and argu-
ments of the author, by prefixing to many of the para-
graphs a brief statement, in italic type, of the subject to
which it relates, or of the point which it is designed to
prove. These headings of the sections are not inclosed
in brackets, being sufficiently indicated by their nature,
and by the change of type. Italics have also been
freely used in the body of the work, in order to direct
the student's attention to the particular words or sen-
tences which contain the gist of the paragraph ; — a pre-
caution which diffuse and digressive writers may often
profitably adopt, in order that their readers may never
be at a loss to know what they are driving at.

The first portion of Mr. Stewart's « Elements " was
published in 1792 ; and ^' after an interval of more than
twenty years," he presented to the public the second
volume. It was less successful than its predecessor, as
the subject of which it treats is more abstruse and for-
bidding than the former theme, and not so well adapted
to the author's peculiar tastes and powers. The re-
searches and speculations of later writers, moreover,
especially of Sir John Herschel, Mr. J. S. Mill, and
Dr. Whewell, have deprived this later volume, in great
part, of the interest and importance which it formerly
possessed. I have, therefore, made comparatively little
use of it in this abridgment, omitting the latter half of
it altogether, and striking out large portions of the first
two chapters. Mr. Stewart's own annotations, a double
tier of which accompanies, and almost exceeds in quan-
tity, the text, have also been diligently winnowed and
bolted, so that they are reduced to a small portion of
their primitive bulk. Translations are given of the
Latin, Greek, and French citations, the original being
often removed to make room for them.

The following extract from Mr. Stewart's Preface to
his second volume, is a sufficient indication of the pur-

VI PBEFACE.

pose for which this abridgment of the whole work has
been prepared. The book, he says, " is more particu-
larly intended for the use of academical students ; and
is offered to them as a guide or assistant, at that impor-
tant stage of their progress when, the usual course of
discipline being completed, an inquisitive mind is natu-
rally led to review its past attainments, and to form
plans for its future improvement. In the prosecution
of this design, I have not aimed at the establishment
of new theories ; far less have I aspired to the invention
of anfi new organ for the discovery of truth. My prin-
cipal object is to aid my readers in unlearning the
scholastic errors which, in a greater or less degree, still
maintain their ground in our most celebrated seats of
learning; and by subjecting to./ree, but I trust, not
skeptical discussion, the more enlightened though dis-
cordant systems of modern logicians, to accustom the
understanding to the unfettered exercise of its native
capacities. That several of the views opened in the
following pages appear to myself original, and of some
importance, I will not deny; but the reception these
may meet with, I shall regard as a matter of compara-
tive indifference, if my labors be found useful in train-
ing the mind to those habits of reflection on its own
operations, which may enable it to superadd to the
instructions of the schools, that higher education which
no schools can bestow."

While these sheets were passing through the press, the
second volume of Sir William Hamilton's very hand-
some edition of "The Collected Works of Dugald
Stewart" was received in this country. It contains
the first volume of " Elements of the Philosophy of the
Human Mind," corresponding to the first seven chap-
ters of the present work. I have examined it with care,
in the hope of finding some new matter which might be
added to this volume. But this hope was disappointed.
The additions are insignificant in extent and impor-
tance ; they would not fill a page, and consist merely
of some additional references and brief citations from
other authors. Indeed, Sir William Hamilton says in
the Preface, " there has been nothing added by me, in

PBEFACS. Vii

the view of vindicating, of supplementing or confirming,
of qualifying or criticising, Mr. Stewart's doctrines."
He also remarks, that though the volume was often
reprinted during the author's lifetime, after the second
edition in 1802, " no alteration or amplification, — none
certainly of any consequence, has been hitherto incor-
porated" with it. Some "intended additions were
indeed supplied," when the third volume was published,
in 1827 ; and he observes that " these have only now
been entered in their proper places." Of course, he
here refers only to editions published in Great Britain ;
as these additions were " entered in their proper places "
in an American edition published several years ago,
firom which the present volume was printed. As the
Preface states that Mr. Stewart was not satisfied with
the translations of quotations not in English, which
were made for the Boston edition of 1821, it is proper
to add, that these quotations have been translated anew
for this volume. They are not translated at all in Sir
William Hamilton's edition.

Cambsidgb, September 25, 1854.

CONTENTS.

INTBODUCTION.

PAOB

Past I. Nature and Object of the Philosophy of the Human l^d 1
II. Utility of the Philosophy of the Human Mind • • .11

CHAPTEB I.
Or THB Powers ot External Pbbcbptioh • • • • SO

Sect. I. Theories formed by Philosophers to explain the manner in

which the Mind perceives external Objects . • • 80

n. Of Dr. Reid's Speculations on the Subject of Perception 38

HI. Of the Origin of our Knowledge 44

CHAPTEB II.
Of Attention • • • 49

CHAPTEB III.
Or Conception 76

CHAPTER IV.
Or Abstraction • • .92

Sect. I. General Observations on this Faculty of the Mind • . 92

II. Objects of our Thoughts, when we employ general terms 97

in. Bemarks on the, opinions of some modem Philosophers on ■

the subject of the foregoing Section . . . .112

lY. Inferences with respect to the Use of Language as an In- •
strument of Thought, and the Errors in Beasoning to

which it occasionfiUy gives rise 125

X CONTENTS.

8bot. y. Of the Purposes to which the Powers of Abstraction and

Greneralization are subservient 129

YL Of the Errors to which we are liable in consequence of a

rash Application of general Principles . . . .137
VIL Differences in the Characters of Individuals arising from

different Habits of Abstraction and Generalization • 143

CHAPTEB V.
Of thb Association ov Idxas 150

Pabt I. Of the Infltjencb of Associatioit ik krqvjjltivo

THB Succession of oub Thouobts . • .151

8bot. L General Observations on this Part of our Constitution . 151
II. Of the Principles of Association among our Ideas . . 160
m. Of the Power which the Mind has over the Train of its

Thoughts 165

lY. Illustrations of this Doctrine 169

1, Of Wit . . . . * . . . .169

2. Of Rhyme 173

a. Of Poetical Fancy .177

4. Of Invention in the Arts and Sdenoes . . .181

. T. Application of the Principles stated in the foregoing Sec-
tions, to explain the Pheaomeiia of Dreaming . .188

Part n. Of thb iNFLtrsNOB of Association on the Intel-
lectual AND ON THE ACTIYE PoWERS • . . 208

Sect. I. Of the Influence of casual Associations on our speculative

Conclusions 208

IL Of the Influence of the Association of Ideas on our Judg-
ments in Matters of Taste ^7

m. Of the Influence of Association on our active Principles

and on our moral Judgments 239

lY. General Remarks on the foregoing Subjects . • • 248

CHAPTEB YI.
Of Mxkort . . • . • . » • • 254

Sect. I. General Observations on Memory 254

TL Of die Yarieties of Memory in different Individuals . 269
m. Of the Improvement of Memory . . • . . 290

CONTENTS. XI

Sbgt. IY. Of the Aid which the Memory deriyes from Philosophical

Arrangement 295

V. Eflfects of committing to Writing our acquired Knowledge 304

Yl. Of Artificial Memory 311

YU. Importance of making a proper Selection among the Ob-
jects of our Knowledge, in order to derive Advantage
from the Acquisitions of Memory . • • .315

Vui. Of the Connection between Memory and Genius • • . 323

CHAPTEB YII.

Of iHAonrATiOK • • .830

Sbct. I. Analysis of Imagination • • •• • • • 830

n. Imagination considered in its Belation to the Fine Arts • 337

UL Belation of Imagination and of Taste to Genius • • 849

IY. Influence of Imagination on Character and Happiness • 351

Y. Inconveniences resulting from an ill-regulated Imagination 357

YI. Uses to which the Power of Imagination is subservient • 867

CHAPTER YIII.
Or Bbabon 372

8ect. L On the Yagneness and Ambiguity of Philosophical Lao

guage relative to this part of our Constitution • 872

II. Of Mathematical Axioms 880

in. Laws of Belief connected with the exercise of ConsdotH'

ness. Memory, Perception, and Beasoning • 3^2

CHAPTEB IX,
Ov Bbabokiko akd or Pbduotitb Etibbnob • • • . iO&

Sbct. I. 1. Boubts with respect to Locke's Distinction between 4> i

Powers of Intuition and of Beasoning • • . 401
2. Conclusions obtained by a Process of I>eduction ottit^f

mistaken for Intuitive Judgments • • • • ilO

n. Of General Beasoning 415

m. Of Mathematical Demonstration • • • • 423

IY. Beasonings concerning Probable or Conthigent Tmths • 456

INTRODUCTION.

PART I.

OV THE MATUBB AND OBJECT OF THE PHILOSOPHT OF THE
HUMAN MIND.

Why the Philo8(^hy of the Suman Mind has hitherto made
Utile progress. — The prejudice which is commoDlj entertain-
ed against metaphysical speculations, seems to arise chiefly
from two causes : First, £rom an apprehension that the subjects
about which they are employed are placed beyond the reach
of the human faculties ; and, secondly, from a belief that these
subjects have no relation to the business of life.

The frivolous and absurd discussions which abound in the
writings of most metaphysical authors, afford but too many
arguments in justification of these opinions ; and if such dis«
cussions were to be admitted as a fair specimen of what the
human mind is able to accomplish in this department of science,
the contempt, into which it has fallen of late, might with jus-
tice be regarded as no inconsiderable evidence of the progress
which true philosophy has made in the present age. Among
the various subjects of inquiry, however, which, in consequence
of the vague use of language, are comprehended under the gen-
eral title of Metaphysics,* there are some, which are essentially

* [The term Physia comprehends the varioas branches of Fhysical or
Nataral Philosophy, snch as Chemistry, Mechanics, Astronomy, Botany,
etc. It properly denotes the science of things cutuaUy existing, whether thoM

1

8 INTBODUCTIOK.

diAtinguished from the rest, both by the degree of evidence
which accompanies their principles, and by the relation which
they bear to the useful sciences and arts ; and it has unfortu-
nately happened, that these have shared in that general dis-
credit into which the other branches of metaphysics have
justly fallen. To this circumstance is probably to be ascribed
the little progress which has hitherto been made in the philos-
ophy OP THE HUMAN MIND ; — a scicncc so interesting in its
nature, and so important in its applications, that it could scarce-
ly have failed, in these inquisitive and enlightened times, to
have excited a very general attention, if it had not acciden-
tally been classed, in the public opinion, with the vain and un-
profitable disquisitions of the schoolmen.

In order to obviate these misapprehensions with respect to
the subject of the following work, I have thought it proper,
in this preliminary chapter, frst^ to explain the nature of the
truths which I propose to investigate ; and, secondly^ to point
out some of the more important applications of whic^ they are
susceptible.

tilings are material or immaterial ; but it is nsnally confined to things ma-
terial, and thnp signifies t^ science of the external ivorid. After Aristotle
had written books upon various branches of Physics, he composed certain
other treatises, to which he gave the name of Metaphysics, or things coming
after Physics, In its widest signification, therefore, the term Metaphysics
eomprehends every study or science which does not belong to Physics. It
is the science of pure ideas, or of abstract and universal truths ; the objects of
this science lie beyond the range of the senses, and are not attainable by
experience. That every event mnst have a cause — that qualities or attri-
butes presuppose a substance in which they inhere — that the human will is
finee, etc., are propositions which belong to Metaphysics. By many writers,
however, the word Metaphysics is loosely applied to denote the Philoso-
phy of Mind. Such a Philosophy treats of the Association of Ideas, Menai-
oiy. Attention, and other phenomena of mind ; and as it consists only in
collecting facts and making inductions, it is properly an experimental sci-
ence, and ought to be ranked under the head of Physics rather than of Meta-
physics. Psychology is the latest term in use to denote the science of hmh-
tal phenomena, while Physics, in its narrower signification, comprehends
only mcOerial phenomena ; the one li the philosophy of mind, the other is
the philosophy of matter.]

INTBODUCTXOir. 8

Our noikns hath of Matter and IBnd are merely relative^-^
The notdon we annex to the words, matter and mind, as is well
remarked by Dr. Beid, (in bis Essays on the Active Powers of
Man,) are merely relative. If I am asked, what I mean bj
mcUterf I can only explain myself by saying, it is ^at whidi
is extended, figured, colored, movable, hard <»r soft, rough or
smooth, hot or cold ; — that is, I can define it in no other way
than by enumerating its sensible qualities. It is not matter, or
body, which I perceive hy my senses; but only extension, jiywre^
eoUyr^ and certain other qualities, which the constitution of my no-
ture leads me to refer to sohethino, whi(^ is extended, fiywred,
and colored* The case is precisely similar with respect to mind.
We are not immediately conscious of its existence, but we are
conscious of sensation, thought, and volition ; operations, which
imply the existence of something which feels, thinks, and wills.
Every man, too, is impressed with an irresistible conviction,
that all these sensations, thoughts, and volitions, belong to one
and the same being ; to that being, which he calls himself; a
being, which he is led, by the constitution of his nature, to con-
sider as something distinct from his body, and as not liable to ba
impaired by the loss or mutilation of any of its organs.

Proof cf the separate existence of Mind, — From these con*
siderations, it appears, that we have the same evidence for the ex-
istence of mind, that we have for the existence of body ; nay, it
there be any difierence between the two cases, that we have
stronger evidence fi:>r it ; inasmuch as the one is suggested to us
by the subjects of our own consciousness,* and the other merely

* [Consdoumess is usually defined to be <Ae notice which the mind takes c/^
its own eperatitins. If I think or remember, I know, or am conscious, that I
think or remember ; if I am pained or pleased, I know that I am so pained
or pleased. Thns, Conscionsness is the witness or repo^er of all mental
phenomena, just as the senses witness and report the phenomena of the
external universe. Consdoosness reports the present phenomena of mind,
as memory reports its past phenomena.

By most writers, Consciotisness is spoken of as if it were a separate
tkculty of mind, whose special office it is to take cognizance of whatever
is passing within as. But Dr. Thomas Brown, Mr. James Mill, Sir W

4 INTBODUGTIOK.

by the objects of our peroeptiona : and in this light, undoubtedly,
the fact would appear to every person, were it not, that, from
our earliest years, the attention is engrossed with the qualities
and laws of matter, an acquaintance with which is absolutely
necessary for the preservation of our animal existence. Hence
it is, that these phenomena occupy our thoughts more than tiiose
of mind ; that we are perpetually tempted to explain the latter
[the phenomena of mind] by the analogy of the former [the
phenomena of matter], and even to endeavor to refer them to
the same general laws ; and that we acquire habits of inatten*
tion to the subjects of our consciousness, too strong to be after*
wards surmounted, without the most persevering industry.

J£ the foregoing observations be well founded, they establish
the distinction between mind and matter, without any long pro-
cess of metaphysical reasoning : * for if our notions of both are

Hamilton, and others, jasflj object to this doctrine. Haying a sensatioDy
and being corucious of that sensation, are not two things ; the thing is one^
the names only are two. If I say I fed a serucOion, the expression is tan-
tological, for ihQ fading and the senaaiion are the same thing ; the sensation
u the feeling. And to saj lam conacious of a feding, is merely to say that
Xfed it; to have a feeling is to be conscious, and to be conscious is to have
a feeling. A single perception is simple and indiyisible ; it cannot be ana-
lyzed into a fact and the consciousness of that fact, for the event itself be-
ing an act of knowing, it does not exist, if it be not known to exist. See
Sir W. Hamilton's Discussions on Philosophy, 2d. ed. p. 47. James Mill's
Analysis of the Human Mind, I. p. )70. Bowen's Essays, p. 131. Dr. T.
Brown's Lectures on the Philosophy of the Human Mind, I. pp. 244-261.]

* In stating the relatiye notions which we have of mind and of body, I
have avoided the use of the word substance, as I am unwilling to furnish the
slightest occasion for controversy ; and have contented myself with defin-
ing mind to be that which feels, thinks, wills, hopes, fears, desires, etc.
That my consciousness of these and other operations is necessarily accom-
panied with a conviction of my own existence, and with a conviction that
all of them belong to one and the same being, is not an hypothesis, but a
fact ; of which it is no more possible for me to doubt, than of the realitjy
of my own sensations or volitions.

[Substcmce is the unknown something which underlies and supports all the
qualities by which any thing is made known to us. We can define any par*
ticular body only by saying, that it is something which is extended, ooioro^

nrrKODUGTzov. A

m-irdj rdatiTe; if we know the one only by such sensible
qualities as extension, figure, and solidity ; and the other, by
such operations as sensation, thought, and volition ; we are cer-
tainly entitled to say, that matter and mind, considered as ob-
jects of human study, are essentially different ; the science of
the former resting ultimately on the phenomena exhibited to
our senses ; that of the latter, on the phenomena of which we
are conscious. Instead, therefore, of objecting to the scheme of
materialism, that its conclusions are false, it would be more ac-
curate to say, that its aim is unphilosophical. It proceeds on a
misapprehension of the proper object of science ; the difficulty
which it professes to remove being manifestly placed beyond
the reach of our &,culties. Surely, when we attempt to explain
the nature of that principle which feels and thinks and wills, by
saying that it is a material substance, or that it is the result of
material organization, we impose on ourselves by words ; for-
getting, that matter as well as mind is known to us by its quali-
ties and attributes alone, and that we are totally ignorant of the
essence of either.*

I^ Philosophy of Mind susceptible of cultivation and pro*
gress. — It would probably contribute much to accelerate the
progress of the philosophy of mind, if, (1.) a distinct explana-
tion were given of its nature and object ; and if, (2.) some gen-

hard or tofty hot or cold, etc. ; that is, by enmneratiiig those properties or
attributes, by means of which it manifests itself to oar senses. So we can
define mtW only by saying, that it is something which feels, thinks, remem-
bers, conceives, etc.; that is, we enumerate the qualities or faculties
through which it manifests itself in consciousness. In both cases, this
unknown something is called substance, which word, in plain English, means
that which stands imder, or upholds, its yarions qualities.]

* Some metaphysicians, who appear to admit the truth of the foregoing
reasoning, have further urged, that for any thing we can prove to the con-
trary, it is possible, that the unknoum substance which has the qualities of
extension, figure, and color, may be the same with the unknoum substance
which has the attributes of feeling, thinking, and willing. But besides
that this is only an hypothesis, which amounts to nothing more than a
man possibility, even if it were true, it would no more be proper to say
of mMf that it is material, than to say of boefy, that it is spiriual
1*

6 INTROD0CTIQir.

end rules were laid down, with respect to the proper method of
conducting the study of it.

Upon a slight attention to the operations of our minds, they
appear to be so complicated, and so infinitely diversified, that it
seems to be impossible to reduce them to any general laws.*

* [What are general lavas, or Jaws of nature, as they are generally termed f
Few phrases are more frequently and glibly used than these, yet, in the
minds of most persons, they have but a vague and uncertain significatioiu
It is worth while, then, to attempt to gain some clear and precise notions
respecting them.

A law of nature is nothing more than a general Jad, or rather, a general
$taiement comprehending under it many similar individual /acts, - A law is the
result of a dassification, and individual things are classed together on ac-
count of some similarity or uniformity that has been discovered between
them.

1. Objects thai exist are classed together on account of their resemiZcznos
to each other. Such classification may consist of several successive steps^
and is the proper work of Natural History. Thus, all objects whatsoever
are divided into three great kingdoms, the Animal, the Vegetable, and the
Mineral. The Animal kingdom is subdivided into four classes. Verte-
brates, Molluscs, Articulates, and Badiates or Zoophites. Again, Verte-
brates are divided into Mammifers, Birds, Reptiles, and Fishes. All the
animals ranked under any one of these classes agree with each other in
certain respects ; all Vertebrates, for instance, have a vertebral column
inclosing a spinal cord ; all Birds have an i^paratns, or the rudiments of
an apparatus, for flying. The General Fact, that all the animals so classed
possess the given organ or property, is called a Law of Nature. It is a
Law of Nature, for instance, that all Vertebrates have a spinal cord and a
skull inclosing a brain ; it is also a Law, that all Mammifers and Birds
have warm red blood, and a heart composed of four compartments.
Another Law of Nature is, that every animal is produced from an egg.
These Laws are not necessary and immutable truths, but are mere induc-
tions founded on experience ; they hold gOod only until an instance is
discovered to the contrary. Whales were once classed with Fishes ; they
are now properly ranked with Mammifers, because unlike Fishes, they
suckle their young. It was once supposed to be a Law of Nature, that all
swans are white ; bleu:k swans have since been discovered.

2. Events that take place, also, are classed together on account of their
unijbrmitg. Thus, it is a General Fact, or Law of Nature, that pressure
9n a fluid is propagated equally in all directions, and that a heavy body,
if unsupported, falls to the earth. Many of these General Facts axe m
familiar, that we never think of formally enunciating them ; " no sdenoe/

INTBODUCTIOIC.

In consequence, however, of a more accurate examination, the
prospect clears up ; and t?ie phenomena, which appeared, at first.

says J. S. Mill, " was needed to teach men that food nonrishes, that water
drownSy or quenches thirst, that the san gives light and heat, that bodies
fall to the ground." These laws, also, are not necessary truths, but arQ
founded on mere induction, — often on a not very extensive one. A
newly discovered metal, being found, by a single experiment, to be fusible
at a certain temperature, it is at once declared to be a Law of Nature, that
it does melt, always has melted, and always will melt, at the ascertained
degree of heat It is certainly possible, though not probable, that another
piece of the metal should be discovered which will not melt at this tem-
perature ; such an instance would be only a parallel to the case of the
black swans. A particular event, comprehended under the statement of a
Law, is not properly said to be caused by the Law, but only to be a oom^
or instance, happening under the Law, A cow does not suckle its calf &»»
cause it is a Mammifer, but it is called a Mammifer because it suckles its
calf. So, it is not a law of Hydrostatics which causes water to remain at
the same level in the two arms of a bent tube ; but the fact, that the water
stands at this level, is ranked among many other facts, which are compre-
hended under the general statement, called a Law, of Hydrostatics. Grav-
itation does not make the stone fall, but the particular fact, that this stone
fell, is comprehended under the General Fact, or Law, of Gravitation. In
like manner. Gravitation does not make the earth revolve in an elliptical
orbit round the sun ; but the fact, that the earth revolves in this manner,
is ranked with the falling of a stone, and with many other facts of a similar
diaracter, under the general statement, or Law, of Gravitation.

Hence it is abundantly evident, to adopt Mr. Mill's language, that " the
expression, Laws of Nature, means nothing but the uniformities which exist
among natural phenomena, when reduced to their simplest expression."
The Laws of Nature do not account for, or explain, the phenomena of na-
ture ; they only describe them. Description and classification are the sole
employments of Physical science.

To account for, or explain, the operations of nature, we must have
recourse to Metaphysics — to something ajler, or alwve, nature. We must
ascend to the notion of Cause. The maxim, ** every event must have a cause,"
is not, like the so-called Laws of Nature, a mere induction, founded on
experience, and holding good only until an instance is discovered to the
contrary ; it is a necessary and immutable truth. It is not derived from
observation of natural phenomena, but is superimposed upon such obser-
ration by a necessity of the human intellect. It is not made known through
the senses ; and its falsity, under any circumstances, is not possible — is not
even conceivable. The Cause, to which it points us, is not to be found m

8 XMTIKODUCTION.

to be too various for our comprehension, are found to be (^
result of a compc&ratively small number of simple and uncomr
pounded foumUies, or of simple and uncompounded principles of
action. These faculties and principles are the general laws of
our constitution, and hold the same place in the philosophy of
mind, that the general laws we investigate in physics, hold in
that branch of science. In both cases, the laws which nature
has established are to be investigated only by an examination
of facts ; and in both cases, a knowledge of these laws leads to
an explanation of an iniinite number of .phenomena.

In the investigation of physical laws, it is well known that
our inquiries must always terminate in some general fact, of
which no account can be given, but that such is the ooi»titution
of nature. After we have established, for example, from the
astronomical phenomena, the universality of the law of grav-
itation, it may still be asked, whether this law implies the con-
stant agency of mind ; and (upon the supposition that it does)
whether it be probable that the Deity always operates imme-
diately, or by means of subordinate instruments ? But these
questions, however curious, do not fall under the province of the
natural philosopher. It is sufficient for his purpose, if the uni-
versality of the fact be admitted.

The case is exactly the same in the philosophy of mind.
When we have once ascertained a general fact ; such as, the
various laws which regulate the Association of Ideas, or the de-
pendence of Memory on that effort of the mind which we call
Attention ; it is all we ought to aim at, in this branch of science.
If we proceed no further than facts for which we have the ev-
idence of our own consciousness, our conclusions will be no less
certain, than those in physics ; but if our curiosity leads us to
attempt an explanation of the Association of Ideas, by certain

natare. The mere Physicist, after vainly searching, ever since the worl4
began, for a single instance of it, has at length abandoned the attempt as
hopeless, and now confines himself to the mere description of natural phe-
nomena. The true cause of these phenomena most be Bought fot ia tha
xealm, not of matter, but of mind.\

nrTBODUCTioir. 9

supposed Tibradons, or other changes, in the state of the bmin ;
5r to explain Memory, hj means of supposed impressions and
traces in the sensorium ; we evidently blend a collection of im-
portant and well- ascertained truths, with principles which rest
wholly on conjecture.*

The Analogy of Matter no Guide to the Philosophy of Mind,
— Beside this inattention to the proper limits of philosophical
inquiry, other sources of error, from which the science of phys-
ics 18 entirely exempted, have contributed to retard the pro-
gress of the philosophy of mind. Of these, the most important
' proceed from that disposition which is so natural to every per-
son, at the commencement of his philosophical pursuits, to ex»
plain inteUeetual and moral phenomena b^f the analogy of the
material world,

I before took notice of those habits of inattention to the sub-
jects of our consciousness, which take their rise in that period
of our lives when we are necessarily employed in acquiring a
knowledge of the properties and laws of matter. In oons^
quence of this early familiarity with the phenomena of the ma-
terial world, they lEippear to us less mysterious than those of
mind ; and we are apt to think that we have advanced one step
m explaining the latter, when we can point out some analogy
between them and the former. It is owing to the same circum-
ftance, that we have scarcely any appropriated language with

* [" When I speak/' bbjb Croasaz, in his Art of Thinking, " of dedn,
'orUentment, timUble, apprehension, doubt, certainty, of affirming, denying, ap-
yrwing, blaming, — I pronounce words the meaning of which I distinctly
mderstand ; and yet I do not represent the things spoken of under any
mage or corporeal form. While the intellect, however, is thus busy about
Its own phenomena, the imagination is also at work in presenting its ana-
logical theories ; but so far from aiding us, it only misleads Our steps and
retards our progress. Would you know what thought is ? It is preciselv
that which passes within you when you think. Stop hut here, and you
are sufiSciently informed. But the imagination, eager to proceed further,
would gratify our curiosity by comparing it iojire, to vapor, or to other
active and subtile principles in the material world. And to what can all
this tend, but to divert our attention from what thought is, and to fix it
upon what it is notl*']

10 INTBODUCTIOK.

respect to mind, and that the words which express its different
operations, are ahnost all borrowed &om the objects of out
senses.* It must, however, appear manifest, upon a very little
reflection, that as the two subjects are essentiaUj distinct, and
as each of them has its peculiar laws, the analogies we are
pleased to fancy between them, can be of no use in illustrating
either ; and that it is no less unphilosophical to attempt an ex-
planation of Perception, or of the Association of Ideas, upon
mechanical principles ; than it would be to explain the phenom-
ena of gravitation, by supposing, as some of the ancients did,
the particles of matter to be animated with principles of mo-
tion ; or to explain the chemical phenomena of elective attrac-
tions, by supposing the substances among which they are ob-
served, to be endowed with thought and volition. — The analogy
of matter, therefore, can be of no use in the inquiries which form
the object of the following work ; but, on the contrary, is to be
guarded against, as one of the principal sources of the errors to
which we are liable.

♦ [" If we critically examine any langoage, ancient or modem, and trace
its several terms or phrases to their source, we shall find it hold invariably,
that all the words made use of to denote spiritual and intellectual things,
are in their origin metaphors, taken from objects of sense. This shows
evidently, that the latter [objects of sense] have made the earliest impres^
sions, have by consequence first obtained names in every tongue, and are
still, as it were, more present with us, and strike the imagination more
forcibly than the former [spiritual and intellectual things.]

Campbell's Philosophy ofBhetoric, Book III. Chapter i. 3.

Numberless instances might be given ; but a very few will suffice, .fin-
agination is derived from an optical image; acuteness, from a Latin word
signifying the sharpness of a material instrument ; reflection, from bending
back a ray of light ; apprehension originally meant seizure, or taking hold of
something by the hand; instil means to drop into; spirit is breath; animal
and animation, (anima, avepog) come from breath, and ultimately from wind;
mdanchdy means Uack bile; fainthearted and miUe-Uvered have come to
mean cowardly, and hard-hearted to mean crud; understanding, foresight^ in-
dination, penetration, etc., suggest their own etymology.]

XNTBODUCTION. 11

PART II.

IP THB UTILITY OP THE PHILOSOPHY OP THE HUMAN lOKIX

Oonnedian of the Arts and Sciences with each other, — It
has been oflen remarked, that there is a mutual connection be-
tween the different arts and sciences ; and that the improve-
ments which are made in one branch of human knowledge, fre-
qaentlj throw light on others, to which it has apparently a very
remote relation. The modem discoveries in astronomy and in
pure mathematics have contributed to bring the art of naviga-
tion to a degree of perfection formerly unknown. The rapid
progress which has been lately made in astronomy, anatomy
and botany, has been chiefly owing to the aid which these sci
ences have received from the art of the optician.

Although, however, the different departments of science and
of art mutually reflect light on each other, it is not always nec-
essary either for the philosopher or the artist to aim at the ac-
quisition of general knowledge. Both of them may safely take
miiny principles for granted, without being able to demonstrate
their truth. A seaman, though ignorant of mathematics, may
apply, with correctness and dexterity, the rules for finding the
longitude. An astronomer or a botanist, though ignorant of
optics, may avail himself of the use of the telescope or the mi-
croscope.

These observations are daily exemplified in the case of the.
artist ; who has seldom either inclination or leisure to speculate
concerning the principles of his art It is rarely, however, we
meet Ynth a man of science who has confined his studies wholly
to one branch of knowledge. That curiosity, which he has been
accustomed to indulge in the course of his favorite pursuit, will
naturally extend itself to every remarkable object which falls
under his observation, and can scarcely fail to be a source of
perpetual dissatis&ction to his mind, till it has been so far gral*
iiled as to liable him to explain all the various phenomena

IS IHTBOD0CTIO1I.

which his professional habits are every daj presenting to his
view.

All the sciences and all human employments connected with the
science of mind. — As every particular science is in this man-
ner connected with others, to which it naturally directs the
attention, so all the pursuits of life, whether they terminate in
speculation or action, are connected with that general science
which has the human mind for its object. The powers of the
understanding are instruments which all men employ ; and his
Quriosity must be small indeed, who passes through life in total
ignorance of faculties which his wants and necessities force him
habitually to exercise, and which so remarkably distinguish man
from the lower animals.* The phenomena resulting from these

* [" 'Tis eyident/' aajs David Hnme, ''that all the sciences have a re-
lation, greater or less, to human nature, and that, howerer wide any of
them may seem to run from it, they still return baid: by one passage or
another. Even mcOhematicg, natural phUotophf, and natural reUgion, are in
some measure dependent on the science of man ; since they lie under the
cognizance of men, and are judged of bj their powers and faculties. It is
impossible to tell what changes and improvements we might make in
these sciences, were we thoroughly acquainted wilh the extent and teoe
of human understanding, and could explain the nature of tiie ideas wo
employ, and of the operations we perform in our reasonings.

" If, therefore, the sciences of mathematics, natural philosophy, and
natural religion, have such a dependence on the knowledge of man, what
may be expected in the other sciences, whose connection with human nar
ture is more close and intimate ? The sole end of logie is to explain the
principles and operations of our reasoning faculty, and the nature of our
ideas ; morals and criticism regard our tastes and sentiments ; and poUties
consider men as united in society, and dependent on each other. In these
four sciences of logic, morals, criticism, and politics, is comprehended
almost every thing which it can any way import us to be acquainted witii,
or which can tend either to the improvement or ornament of the haman
mind. •

" Here, then, is the only expedient from which we can hope for success
in our philosophical researches; to leave the tedious, lingering method
which we have hitherto followed ; and instead of taking, now and then, a
castle or village on the frontier, to march up directly to the capital or cen-
tre of these sciences, to human nature itself; which being once masters of,
we may everywhere else hope for an easy victory. From this station, we

INTBODUCTION. 18

faculties and principles of the mind, are every moment soliciting
our notice, and open to our examination a field of discoverj as
inexhaustible as the phenomena of the material world, and ex
hibiting not less striking marks of divine wisdom.

While all the sciences and all the pursuits of life have this
common tendency to lead our inquiries to the philosophy of hu-
man nature, this last branch of knowledge harrows its principles
from no other science whatever. Hence there is something in
the study of it which is peculiarly gratifying to a reflecting and
inquisitive mind, and something in the conclusions to which it
leads on which the mind rests with pecuHar satisfaction. Till
once our opinions are in some degree fixed with respect to it,
we abandon ourselves, with reluctance, to particular scientific
investigations ; and, on the other hand, a general knowledge of
such of its principles as are most fitted to excite the curiosity,
not only prepares us for engaging in other pursuits with more
liberal and comprehensive views, but leaves us at liberty to
prosecute them with a more undivided and concentrated at-
tention.

Direct advantages of a study of the phenomena of mind, — 14
is not, however, merely as a subject of speculative curiosity that
the principles of the human mind, deserve a careful examina-
tion. The advantages to be expected from a successful analysis
of it are various ; and some of them of such importance, as to
render it astonishing, that, amidst all the success with which the
subordinate sciences have been cultivated, this, which compre-
hends the principles of all of them, should be still sufiered to
remain in its infancy.

I shall endeavor to illustrate a few of these advantages, be-
ginning with what appears to me to be the most important of

may extend our conquests over all those sciences which more intimately
concern human life, and may afterward proceed at leisure to discover more
fully those which are the objects of pure curiosity. There is no question
of importance whose decision is not comprised in the science of man ; and
there is none which can be decided with any certainty, before we become
acquainted with that science."]

2

14 XNTBODUOTIOK.

any; the Ugld which a phihsophieal anafyiU 0/ the principbi
of the mind would neceeearily Uirow on the su^'ecte of intellectual
and moral education.

The nature and purpoeee of education. — The most essential
objects of education are the two following : Firet^ to cultivate
all the yarious principles of our nature, both speculative and
active,* in such a manner as to bring them to the greatest per-
fection of which thej are susceptible ; and, secondly ^ bj watch-
ing over the impressions and associations which the mind re
ceives in earlj life, to secure it against the influence of prevail-
ing errors ; and, as far as possible, to engage its prepossessions
on the side of truth. It is only upon a philosophical analysis
of the mind, that a systematical plan can be founded for the ac-
complishment of either of these purposes*

There are few individuals whose education has been con-
ducted in every respect with attention and judgment. Almost
every man of reflection is conscious, when he arrives at matu-
rity, of many defects in his mental powers, and of many in-
convenient habits, which might have been prevented or reme-
died in his infancy or youth. Such a consciousness is the first
step towards improvement ; and the person who feels it, if he

* [By the speculative principles of onr nature, Stewart here means the
yarioas powers or Acuities of the intdlect or the understanding, in the nar-
rowest sense of these terms ; such as the faculties of perceptim, memory,
judgment, imagination, etc. All these powers we might conceive to be in
full emploTment, though man should lead a life of mere contemplation or
reverie, never putting forth any voluntary exertion whatsoever, either of
mind or body. What Stewart calls the active principles of human nature
might be more properly termed principles of action, or rather impulses to ac-
tion,— such as the appetites, desires, ajffections, sdf-love, and conscience.
These stimulate us to exertion ; these point out ends to be pursued, while
the intellect furnishes, as it were, the means for their attainment.

" Reason the card, bat passloa Is the galo."

Stewart's phraseology here is faulty, for the intellectual powers, such as
memory and imagination, may be just as active (that is, in as full exercise,)
•B the appetites or the conscience ; but the former do not stimulate man to
voluntary exertion, unless they are conjoined with some desire.]

n^TBODVCTION. 15

is possessed of resolution and steadiness, will not scrapie to be«
gin, even in advanced years, a new course of education for him-
self. The degree of reflection and observation, indeed, which
is necessary for this purpose, cannot be expected from any one
at a very early period of life, as these are the last powers of the
mind which imfold themselves ; but it is never too late to think
of the improvement of our faculties ; and much progress may
be made in the art of applying them success^lly to their proper
objects, or in obviating the inconveniences resulting from their
imperfection, not only in manhood, but in old age.

Lhjuriaus effects of exchmve addicHan to one employment or
pursuit. — It is not, however, to the mistakes of our early in-
structors, that all our intellectual defects are to be ascribed.
There is no profession or pursuit which has not habits peculiar
to itself and which does not leave some powers of the mind dor-
mant, while it exercises and improves the rest If we wish,
therefore, to cultivate the mind to the extent of its capacity, we
must not rest satisfied with that employment which its faculties
receive from our particular situation in life. It is not in the awk-
ward and professional form of a mechanic, who has strengthened
particular muscles of his body by the habits of his trade, that
we are to look for the perfection of our animal nature ; neither
is it among men of confined pursuits, whether speculative or ac-
tive, that we are to expect to find the human mind in its highest
state of cultivation. A variety of exercises is necessary to pre-
serve the animal frame in vigor and beauty ; and a variety of
those occupations which literature and science afibrd, added to
a promiscuous intercourse with the world, in the habits of con-
versation and business, is no less necessary for the improvement
of the understanding. I acknowledge, that there are some pro-
fessions in which a man of very confined acquisitions may arrive
at the first eminence, and in which he will perhaps be the more
likely to excel, the more he has concentrated the whole force of
his mind to one particular object. But such a person, however
distinguished in his own sphere, is educated merely to be a lite-
rary artisan, and neither attains the perfection nor the happi-
ness of his nature. ^ That education only can be considered ai

' 16 INTROD tJCT coif.

complete and generous, which" (in the language of Milton)
^ fits a man to perform justly, skilfully, and magnanimously, aU
the offices, both private and public, of peace and of war."

I hope it will not be supposed, from the foregoing observa-
tions, that they are meant to recommend an indiscriminate at-
tention to all the objects of speculation and of action. Nothing
can be more evident, than the necessity of limiting the field of
our exertion, if we wish to benefit society by our labors. But
it is perfectly consistent with the most intense application to
our favorite pursuit, to cultivate that general acquaintance with
letters and with the world which may be sufficient to enlarge
the mind, and to preserve it from any danger of contracting the
pedantry of a particular profession. In many cases, (as was
already remarked,) the sciences reflect light on each other;
and the general acquisitions, which we have made in other pur-
suits, may furnish us with useful helps for the further prosecn->
tion of our own. But even in those instances in which the case
is otherwise, and in*which these liberal accomplishments must
be purchased by the sacrifice of a part of our professional emi-
nence, the acquisition of them will amply repay any loss we
may sustain. It ought not to be the leading object of any one,
to become an eminent metaphysician, mathematician, or poet,
but to render himself happy as an individual, and an agreeable,
a respectable, and a useful member of society. A man who
loses his sight, improves the sensibility of his touch ; but who
would consent, for such a recompense, to part with the pleasures
which he receives from the eye ?

lAght throvm hy the philosophy of miTid upon the theory ana
practice of education. — It is almost unnecessary for me to re*
mark, how much individuals would be assisted in the proper and
liberal culture of the mind, if they were previously led to take
a comprehensive survey of human nature in all its parts ; of itt
various faculties, and powers, and sources of enjoyment, and of
the effects which are produced on these principles by particulai
situations. It is such a knowledge alone of the capacities of
the mind, that can enable a person to judge of his own acquisi-
tions, and to employ the most effectual means for supplying hi?

INTRODUCTION. IT

defects and removing his inconvenient habits. Without some
degree of it, every man is in danger of contracting bad habits
before he is aware, and of suffering some of his powers to go to
decay, for want of proper exercise.

If the business of early education were more thoroughly and
more generally understood, it would be less necessary for indi-
viduals, when they arrive at maturity, to form plans of improve-
ment for themselves. But education never can be systemat-
ically directed to its proper objects, till we have obtained, not
only an accurate analysis of the general principles of our na-
ture, and an account of the most important laws which regulate
their operation ; but an explanation of the various modifications
and combinations of these principles, which produce that diver-
sity of talents, genius, and character, we observe among men.
To instruct youth in the languages and in the sciences is com-
paratively of httle importance, if we are inattentive to the hab-
its they acquire, and are not careful in giving to all their differ-
ent faculties, and all their different principtes of action, a proper
degree of employment Abstracting entirely from the culture
of their moral powers, how extensive and difficult is the busi-
ness of conducting their intellectual . improvement ! To watch
over the associations which they form in their tender years ; to
give them early habits of mental activity ; to rouse their curi-
osity, and to direct it to proper objects ; to exercise their inge-
nuity and invention; to cultivate in their minds a turn for
speculation, and at the same time preserve their attention alive
to the objects around them; to awaken their sensibilities to the
beauties of nature, and to inspire them with a relish for intel-
lectual enjoyment ; — these form but a part of the business of
education, and yet the execution even of this part requii*es an
acquaintance with the general principles of our nature, which
seldom falls to the share of those to whom the instruction of
youth is commonly intrusted.

Nor will such a theoretical knowledge of the human mind as
I have now described, be always sufficient in practice. An un-
common degree of sagacity is frequently requisite, in order to
accommodate general rules to particular tempers and charao*

18 mntODUoTioir.

ten. In wbaiever way we choose to account for it, whether by
original organization or bj the operation of moral causes in very
early infancy, no fact can be more undeniable, than that there
are important differences discernible in the minds of children,
previous to that period at which, in general, their intellectual
education commences. There is, too, a certain hereditary char-
acter (whether resulting from physical constitution, or caught
from imitation and the influence of situation) which appears re-
markably in particular families. One race, for a succession of
generations, is distinguished by a genius for the abstract sci-
ences, while it is deficient in vivacity, in imagination, and in
taste ; another is no less distinguished for wit, and gaiety, and
fancy ; while it appears incapable of patient attention or of pro-
found research. The system of education which is proper to
be adopted in particular cases, ought undoubtedly to have some
reference to these circumstances, and to be calculated, as much
as possible, to develop and to cherish those intellectual and ao*
tive principles in which a natural deficiency is most to be ap-
prehended. Montesquieu, and other speculative politicians,
have insisted much on the reference which education and laws
should have to climate. I shall not take upon me to say how
&r their conclusions on this subject are just ; but I am fully
persuaded, that there is a foundation in philosophy and good
sense for accommodating, at a very early period of life, the edu-
cation of individuals to those particular turns of mind to which,
from hereditary propensities, or from moral situation, they may-
be presumed to have a natural tendency.

There are few subjects more hackneyed than that of educa-
tion; and yet there is none, upon which the opinions of the
world are still more divided. Nor is this surprising ; for most
of those who have speculated concerning it, have confined their
attention chiefly to incidental questions about the comparative
advantage of public or private instruction, or the utility of par-
ticular languages or sciences; without attempting a previous
examination of those faculties and principles of the mind, which
it is the great object of education to improve. Many excellent
detached observations, indeed, both on the intellectual and moral

IKTRODUCTIOV. 19

powers, are to be collected from the writings of ancient and
modem authors ; but I do not know, that^ in any language, an
attempt has been made to analyze and illustrate the principles
of human nature, in order to laj a philosophical foundation for
their proper culture.

Hie usefulness of systematic and thorough education defended,
— I have even heard scmie very ingenious and intelligent men
dispute the propriety of so systematical a plan of instruction.
The most successful and splendid exertions, both in the sciences
and arts, (it has been frequently remarked,) have been made
by individuals, in whose minds the seeds of genius were allowed
to shoot up wild and free ; while, from the most careful and
skilful tuition, seldom any thing results above mediocrity. I
shall not, at present, enter into any discussions with respect to
the certainty of the fact on which this opinion is founded. Sup-
posing the fact to be completely established, it must still be re-
membered, that originality of genius does not always imply vigor
and comprehensiveness and liberality of mind ; and that it is
desirable only in so far as it is compatible with these more val-
uable qualities. I have already hinted, that there are some
pursuits, in which, as they require the exertion only of a small
number of our faculties, an individual, who has a natural turn
for them, will be more likely to distinguish himself, by being
suffered to follow his original bias, than if his attention were dis-
tracted by a more liberal course of study. But wherever such
men are to be found, they must be considered, on the most
favorable supposition, as having sacrificed, to a certain degree,
the perfection and the haj^iness of their nature, to the amuse-
ment or instruction of others. It is, too, in times of general
darkness and barbarism, that what is commonly called original-
ity of genius most frequently appears : and surely the great aim
of an enlightened and benevolent philosophy is, not to rear a
small number of individuals, who may be regarded as prodigies
in an ignorant and admiring age, but to diffuse, as widely as
possible, that degree of cultivation which may enable the bulk
of a people to possess all the intellectual and moral improve-
ment of which their nature is susceptible. " Original genius,*

80 IKTBODDCTIOBr.

(says Voltaire) ^ occurs but seldom in a nation wliere the liter-
ary taste is formed. The number of cultivated minds which
there abound, like the trees in a thick and flourishing forest,
prevent any single individual from rearing his head far above
the rest Where trade is in few hands, we meet with a small
number of overgrown fortunes in the midst of a general pov-
erty: in proportion as it extends, opulence becomes general,
and great fortunes rare. It is precisely because there is, at
present, much light and much cultivation in France, that we
are led to complain of the want of superior genius."

How far education conduces to happiness. — To what purpose,
indeed, it may be said, is all this labor ? Is not the impor-
tance of every thing to man to be ultimately estimated by its
tendency to promote his happiness ? And is not our daily ex-
perience sufficient to convince us, that this is, in general, by no
means proportioned to the culture which his nature has re-
ceived ? Kay, is there not some ground for suspecting, that the
lower orders of men enjoy, on the whole, a more enviable con'
dition, than their more enlightened and refined superiors ?

The truth, I apprehend, is, that happiness, in so far as it
arises from the mind itself, wiU be always proportioned to the
degree of perfection which its powers have attained ; but that^
in cultivating these powers with a view to this most important
of all objects, it is essentially necessary that such a degree of
attention be bestowed on all of them, as may preserve them
in that state of relative strength, which appears to be agree-
able to the intentions of nature. In consegtience of an ea:-
chmve attention to the cvUure of the imagincUion, the taste, the
reasoning faadtg^ or any of the active principles, it is possible
that the pleasures of human life may he diminished, or its pains
increased; but the inconveniences which are experienced in such
cases are not to be ascribed to education, bat to a partial and in-'
judicious education. In such cases, it is possible that the poet,
the metaphysician, or the man of taste and refinement, may ap-
pear to disadvantage when compared with the vulgar ; for such
is the benevolent appointment of Providence with respect to the
lower oixlers, that, although not one principle of their nature be

INTRODUCTION. 21

completely unfolded, the whole of these principles preserve
among themselves that balance which is favorable to the tran«
quillitj of their minds, and to a prudent and steady conduct in
the limited sphere which is assigned to them, far more com-
pletely than those of their superiors, whose education has been
conducted on an erroneous or imperfect system : but all this,
far irom weakening the force of the foregoing observations, only
serves to demonstrate how impossible it always will be, to form
a rational plan for the improvement of the mind without an ac-
curate and comprehensive knowledge of the principles of the
human constitution.

That the memory, the imagination, or the reasoning faculty
are to be instantly strengthened in consequence of our specula-
tions concerning their nature, it would be absurd to suppose ;
but it is surely far from being unreasonable to think, that an
acquaintance with the laws which regulate these powers may
suggest some useful rules for their gradual cultivation, for rem-
edying their defects in the case of individuals, and even for ex-
tending those limits which nature seems, at first view, to have
assigned them.

To how great a degree of perfection the intellectual and moral
nature of man is capable of being raised by cultivation, it is
difficult to conceive. The effects of early, continued, and* sys-
tematical education in the case of those children who are trained,
for the sake of gain, to feats of strength and agility, justify, per-
haps, the most sanguine views which it is possible for a phi-
losopher to form with respect to the improvement of the
species.

Th^ Philosophy of Mind enables us to control early impressions
and assoctattons. — I now proceed to consider, how far the phi-
losophy of mind may be useful in accomplishing the second ob-
ject of education ; by assisting us in the management of early
impressions and associations.

By far the greater part of the opinions on which we act in
life, are not the result of our own investigations ; but are adopted
implicitly, in infancy and youth, upon the authority of others.
Even the great principles of morality, although implanted in

22 IKTBODUCTION.

eyery heart, are commonlj aided and cherished, at least to a
certain degree, by the care of our instructors. All this is un-
doubtedly agreeable to the intentions of nature; and, indeed,
were the case otherwise, society could not subsist ; for nothing
can be more evident, than that the bulk of mankind, condemned
as they are to laborious occupations, which are incompatible
with intellectual improvement, are perfectly incapable of form-
ing their opinions on some of the most important subjects that
can employ the human mind. It is evident, at the same time,
that as no system of education is perfect, a variety of prejudices
must, in this way, take an early hold of our belief; so as to ac-
quire over it an influence not inferior to that of the most incon-
trovertible truths. When a child hears either a speculative
absurdity, or an erroneous principle of action, recommended and
enforced daily, by the same voice which first conveyed to it
those simple and sublime lessons of morahty and religion which
are congenial to its nature, is it to be wondered at, that, in
future life, it should find it so difficult to eradicate prejudices
which have twined their roots with all the essential principles
of the human frame ? — If such, however, be the obvious inten-
tions of nature, with respect to those orders of men who are
employed in bodily labor, it is equally clear, that she meant to
impose it as a double obligation on those who receive the advan-
tages of a liberal education, to examine, with the most scrupu-
lous care, the foundation of all those received opinions which
have any connection with morality, or with human happiness.
If the multitude must be led, it is of consequence, surely, that
it should be led by enlightened conductors ; by men who are
able to distinguish truth from error, and to draw the line be-
tween those prejudices which are innocent or salutary, (if
indeed there are any prejudices which are really salutary,) and
those which are hostile to the interests of virtue and of man-
kind.

Necessity of unlearning early errors. — In such a state of
society as that in which we live, the prejudices of a morale a
political, and a religious nature, which we imbibe in early life,
are so various, and at the same time so intimately blended with

INTBODUGTIOK. W

the belief we entertain of the most sacred aid important tratbby
that a great part of the life of a philosopher must necessarily be
devoted, not so much to the acquisition of ^new knowledge, as to
unlearn the errors to which he had been taught to give an im-
plicit assent before the dawn of reason and reflection. And
unless he submit in this manner to bring all his opinions to the
test of a severe examination, his ingenuity and his learnings
instead of enlightening the world, wiU only enable him to give
an additional currency, and an additional authority, to estab*
lished errors. To attempt such a struggle against early preju*
dices is, indeed, the professed aim of all philosophers ; but how
few are to be found who have force of mind sufficient for accom-
plishing their object ; and who, in freeing themselves from one
set of errors, do not allow themselves to be carried away with
another ? To succeed in it completely. Lord Bacon seeins to
have thought, (in one of the most remarkable passages of his
writings,) to be more than can well be expected from human
Irailty.

Philosophy gvxxrds us against general skepticism, — Nor is it
merely in order to free the mind from the influence of error,
that it is useful to examine the foundation of established opin-
iona. . It is such an examination alone, that, in an inquisitive
age like the present, can secure a philosopher from the danger
of unlimited skepticism. To this extreme, indeed, the com-
plexion of the times is more likely to give him a tendency, than
to implicit credulity. In the fonner ages of ignorance and
superstition, the intimate association which had been formed, in
the prevailing systetns of education, between truth and error, had
given to the latter an ascendant over the minds of men, which
it could never have acquired, if divested of such an alliance.
The case has, of late years, been most remarkably reversed ;
the conmion sense of mankind, in consequence of the growth of
a more liberal spirit of inquiry, has revolted against many of
those absurdities^ which had so long held human reason in cap*
tivity ; and it was, perhaps, more than could reasonably have
been expected, that, in the first moments of their emancipation,
philosophers should have stopped short at the precise boundaiyy

lA DiTBODuonoir.

which cooler reflection, and more moderate Tiews, would have
prescribed. The fact is, that thej have passed fiir beyond it ;
and that, in their zeal to destroy prejadices, they have attempted
to tear up by the roots many of the best and happiest and most
essential principles of our nature. Having remarked the pow-
erful influence of education over the mind, they have concluded,
that man is wholly a factitious being ; not recollecting, that this
very susceptibility of education presupposes certain original
principles, which are common to the whole species ; and that,
as error can only take a permanent hold upon a candid mind
by being grafted on truths, which it is unwilling or unable to
eradicate, even the influence, which fiidse and absurd opinions
occasionally acquire over the belief, instead of being an argu-
ment for universal skepticism, is the most decisive argument
against it ; inasmuch as it shows, that there are some truths so
incorporated and identified with our nature, that they can recon-
cile us even to the absurdities and contradictions with which we
suppose them to be inseparably connected. The skeptical phi-
losophers, for example, of the present age, have frequently at-
tempted to hold up to ridicule those contemptible and puerile
superstitions, which have disgraced the creeds of some of the
most enlightened nations, and which have not only commanded
the assent, but the reverence, of men of the most accomplished
miderstandings. But these histories of human imbecility are,
in truth, the strongest testimonies which can be produced, to
prove how wonderful is the influence of the fundamental prin-
ciples of morality over the belief; when they are able to sanc-
tify, in the apprehensions of mankind, every extravagant opin-
ion, and every unmeaning ceremony, which early education has
taught us to associate with them.

FeehU and unphihsophical minds exposed both to credulity and
skepticisni, — That implicit credulity is a mark of a feeble mind,
will not be disputed ; but it may not perhaps be as generally-
acknowledged, that the case is the same with unlimited skepti-
cism : on the contrary, we are sometimes apt to ascribe this dis-
position to a more than ordinary vigor of intellect Such a
prejudice was by no means unnatural at that period in the hia-

INTBODnOTIOK. 25

torj of modem Europe, when reason first began to throw off
the yoke of authority ; and when it unquestionablj required a
superiority of understanding, as well as of intrepidity, for an in-
dividual to resist the contagion of prevailing superstition. But
in the present age, in which the tendency of fashionable opin-
ions is directly opposite to those of the vulgar, the philosophi-
cal creed, or the philosophical skepticism of by far the greater
number of those who value themselves on an emancipation from
popular errors, arises from the very same weakness with the
credulity of the multitude : nor is it going too far to say, with
Rousseau, that, " He who, in the end of the eighteenth centuiy,
has brought himself to abandon all his early principles without
discrimination, would probably have been a bigot in the days
of the League." In the midst of these contrary impulses, of
fiEuhionable and vulgar prejudices, he alone evinces the supe-
riority and the strength of his mind, who is able to disentangle
truth from error; and to oppose the clear conclusions of his
own unbiassed faculties, to the united clamors of superstition
and of false philosophy. Such are the men, whom nature
marks out to be the lights of the world, to fix the wavering
opinions of the multitude, and to impress their own characters
on that of their age.

For securing the mind completely from the weakness I have
now been describing, and enabling it to maintain a steady course
of inquiry between implicit credulity and unlimited skepticism,
the most important of all qualities is a sincere and devoted at-
tachment to truth ; which seldom fails to be accompanied with
a manly confidence in the clear conclusions of human reason.
It is such a confidence, united (as it generally is) with personal
intrepidity, which forms what the French writers call force of
character ; one of the rarest endowments, it must be confessed,
of our species ; but which, of all endowments, is the most essen-
tial for rendering a philosopher happy in himself, and a bless-
ing to mankind.

3nUghiened education in youth the best preservative againsi
skepticism, ^^From the observations which have been made, it
sufficiently appears, that, in order to secure the mind, on the one

M DTTBODUOTIOX.

lumd, from the influence of prejudice^ and on the otiher, fitmi a
tendency to unlimited skepticism, it is necessary that it should
be able to distinguish the original and universal principles and
laws of human nature from the adventitious effect of local situ-
ation. But if, in the case .of an individual who has received an
imperfect or erroneous education, such a knowledge puts it in
his power to correct, to a certain degree, his own bad habiifl,
and to surmount his own speculative errors, it enables him to
be useful, in a much higher degree, to those whose education he
has an opportunity of superintending from early infancy. Such,
and so permanent, is the effect of first impressions on the chaiv
acter, that, although a philosopher may succeed, by persever-
ance, in freeing his reason from the prejudices with which it
was entangled, they will still retain some hold of his imagina-
tion and his affections ; and, therefore, however enlightened his
understanding may be in his hours of speculation, his philo-
sophical opinions will frequently lose their influence over his
mind, in those very situations in which their practical assistance
is most required ; when his temper is soured by misfortune, or
when he engages in the pursuits of life, and exposes himself to
the contagion of popular errors. His opinions are supported
merely by speculative arguments ; and, instead of being con«
nected with any of the active principles of his nature, are coun-
teracted and thwarted by some of the most powerful of them.
How different would the case be, if education were conducted
from the beginning with attention and judgment I Were the
same pains taken to impress truth on the mind in early infancy,
that are often taken to inculcate error, the great principles of our
conduct would not only be juster than they are, but, in conse-
quence of the aid which they would receive from the imagina-
tion and the heart, trained to conspire with them in the same
direction, they would render us happier in ourselves, and would
influence our practice more powerfully and more habitually.
There is surely nothing in error which is more congenial to the
mind than truth. On the contrary, when exhibited separately
and alone to the understanding, it shocks our reason and pro«
Tokes our ridicule ; and it is only (as I had occasion already to

XNTRODUCTION. fJF

remark) by an aUiance with truths which we find it difficult to
renounce, that it can obtain our assent or command our rever-
ence. What advantages, then, might be derived from a proper
attention to early impressions and associations, in giving sup-
port to those principles which are connected with human hap-
piness ? The long reign of error in the world, and the influence
it maintains, even in an age of liberal inquiry, far from being
favorable to the supposition, that human reason is destined to
be forever the sport of prejudice and absurdity, demonstrates
the tendency which there is to permanence in established opin-
ions and in established institutions, and promises an eternal
stability to true philosophy, when it shall once have acquired
the ascendant, and when proper means shall be employed to
support it by a more perfect system of education.

Our daily experience may convince us, how susceptible the
tender mind is of deep impressions, and what important and
permanent effects are produced on the characters and the hap-
piness of individuals, by the casual associations formed in child-
hood among the various ideas, feelings, and affections with
which they were habitually occupied. It is the business of ed-
ucation not to counteract this constitution of nature, but to give
it a proper direction ; and the miserable consequences to which
it leads, when under an improper regulation, only show what an
important instrument of human improvement it might be ren-
dered in more skilful hands. If it be possible to interest the
imagination and the heart in favor of error, it is, at least, no less
possible to interest them in favor of troth. If it be possible to
extinguish all the most generous and heroic feelings of our na^
ture, by teaching us to connect the idea of them with those of
guilt and impiety, it is surely equally possible to cherish and
strengthen them, by establishing the natural alliance between
our duty and our happiness. If it be possible for the influence
of fashion to veil the native deformity of vice, and to give to
low and criminal indulgences the appearance of spirit, of ele-
gance, and of gaiety, can we doubt of the possibility of connect-
ing, in the tender mind, these pleasing associations with pur*
iuits that are truly worthy and honorable ?

is DTTBODUCTIOir.

A eompUeaUd creed exposes one, hy reaction^ to general skepH"
turn. — J shall conclude this subject with remarking, that, al-
though in all moral and religious systems there is a great mix-
ture of important truth, and although it is in consequence of this
alliance that errors and absurdities are enabled to preserve their
hold of the belief, jet it is commonly found, that, in proportion
as an established creed is complicated in its dogmas and in its
ceremonies, and in proportion to the number of accessory ideas
which it has grafted upon the truth, the more difficult is it for
Uiose who have adopted it in childhood to emancipate them-
selves completely from its influence; and in those cases in
which they at last succeed, the greater is their danger of aban-
doning, along with their errors, all the truths which they had
been taught to connect with them. The Roman Catholic sys-
tem is shaken off with much greater difficulty than those which
are taught in the Reformed churches; but when it loses its
hold on the mind, it much more frequently prepares the way
for unlimited skepticism. The cause of this I may, perhaps,
have an opportunity of pointing out, in treating of the Associa-
tion of Ideas.*

* [Sir William Hamilton places the nsefnlness of the Philosophy of
Mind, considered as a means of education, on different, and, as we think,
better chosen, grounds.

"On this ground," he says, ''we rest the preeminent utility of meta-
physical speculations. That they comprehend all the sublimest objects of
our theoretical and moral interest ; — that every natural conclusion con-
oeming God, the soul, the present worth, and the future destiny of man,
is exclusively metaphysical, will be at once admitted. But we do not
found the importance on the paramount dignity of the pursuit. It is as
the hett gymnastie of the mind, — as a means, principally and almost exdu-
sively conducive to the highest education of our noblest powers, that we
would vindicate to these speculations the necessity which has too fre-
quently been denied them. By no other intellectual application, (and,
least of all, hj phytical pursuits,) is the soul thus reflected on itself, and its
fiusulties concentred in such independent, vigorous, unwonted, and con-
tinuous energy; — by none, therefore, are its best capacities so variously
and intensely evolved. Where there is the most life, there is the victory."
•^DiMcumonMon PhUotophy, etc. 2d ed. p. 41«

INTRODUCTION. 29

"Plato lias profonndly defined man 'the hunter of troth;' for in this
chase, as in others, the pursuit is all in all, the success comparatiyely noth-
ing. "We exist only as we energize ; pleasure is the reflex of unimpaired
energy; energy is the mean by which our faculties are developed; and a
higher energy, the end which their development proposes. In action is
thus contained the existence, happiness, improvement, and perfection of
our being ; and knowledge is only precious, as it may afford a stimulus to
the exercise of our powers, and the condition of their more complete ac-
tivity. Speculative truth is, therefore, subordinate to speculation itsdf; and its
value is directly measured by the quantity of energy which it occasions, —
immediately in its discovery, mediately throng its consequences. Life
to Endymion was not preferable to death ; aloof from practice, a waking
error is better than a sleeping truth. — Neither, in point of fact, is there
found any proportion between ih& possession of truths, and the development
of the mind in which they are deposited. Every learner in science is now
familiar with more truths than Aristotle or Plato ever dreamt of know-
ing ; yet, compared with the Stagirite or the Athenian, how few, even of
our masters of modern science, rank higher than inteUectnal barbarians."
— i5. p. 40.

"All profitable study is a silent disputation — an intellectual gymnas-
tic ; and the most improving books are precisely those which most excite
the reader — to understand the author, to supply what he has omitted,
and to canvass his facts and reasonings. To read passively, to learn— «
is, in reality, not to learn at all. In study, implicit faith, belief upon au-
thority, is worse even than, for a time, erroneous speculation. To read
profitably, we should read the authors, not most in unison with, but most
adverse to, our opinions ; for whatever may be the case in the cure of
bodies, enantiopcdhy, and not honuxcpathy, is the true medicine of minds.
Accordingly, such sciences and such authors, as present only unques«
tionable truths, [pure mathematics, for instance, when made a chief object
of pursuit,] determining a minimum of self-activity in the student, are, in
a rational education, subjectively, naught. Those [such] sciences and
authors, on the contrary, as constrain the student to independent thought,
[metaphysics, for example,] are, whatever be their objective certainty, anA"
jectivdy, educationaUy, best."] — 76. p. 773.

8*

PHILOSOPHY

om

THE HUMAN MIND.

CHAPTER I.

or THE POWEBS OV EXTEBNAX PEBCEPTION.

1. Of the theories which have been formed hy Philosophers^ to «ap-
plcdn the manner in which the Mind perceives external Ohjects. —
Among the various phenomena which the human mind presents
to our view, there is none more calculated to excite our curiosity
and our wonder, than the communication which is carried on
between the sentient, thinking, and active principle within us,
and the material objects with which we are surrounded. How
little soever the bulk of mankind maj be disposed to attend to
such inquiries, there is scarcely a person to be found, who has
not occasionally turned his thoughts to that mysterious influence,
which the will possesses over the members of the body ; and to
those powers of perception which seems to inform us, by a sort
of inspiration, of the various changes which take place in the
external universe. Of those who receive the advantages of a
liberal education, there are perhaps few, who pass the period of
childhood, without feeling their curiosity excited by this incom-
prehensible communication between mind and matter. For my
own part, at least, I cannot recdlect the date of my earliest
speculations on the subject

EXTERKAL PEROEPTIOir. 81

Which sense is alone considered in tnost theories of percept
Hon. — In considering the phenomena of perception, it is natural
to suppose that the attention of philosophers would be directed,
in the first instance, to the sense of seeing. The variety of infor-
mation and of enjoyment we receive by it ; the rapidity with
which this information and enjoyment are conveyed to us ; and
above all, the intercourse it enables us to maintain with the
more distant part of the universe, cannot fail to give it, even in
the apprehension of the most careless observer, a preeminence
over all our other perceptive faculties. Hence it is, that the
various theories, which have been formed to explain the opera-
tions of our senses, have a more immediate reference to that of
seeing ; and that the greater part of the metaphysical language,
concerning perception in general, appears evidently, &om its
etymology, to have been suggested by the phenomena of vision*
Even when applied to this sense, indeed, it can at most amuse
the fancy, without conveying any precise knowledge ; but when
applied to the other senses, it is altogether absurd and unintel-
^gible*

Objections to aU the hffpotheses that have been framed to ev-
plain the process of perception. — It would be tedious and
'/seless, to consider particularly the different hypotheses which
have been advanced upon this subject. To all of them, I appre-
hend, the two following remark will befound applicable : First,
that, in the formation of them, their authors have been influ-
enced by some general maxims of philosophizing, borrowed
from physics ; and secondly, that they have been influenced by
an indistinct, but deep-rooted conviction of the immateriality of
the soul; which, although not precise enough to point out to
them the absurdity of attempting to illustrate its operations by
the analogy of matter, was yet sufficiently strong to induce
them to keep the absurdity of their theories as far as possible
out of view, by allusions to those physical facts in which the
distinctive properties of matter are the least grossly and palpa-
bly exposed to our observation. To the former of these cir-
cumstances is to be ascribed the general prindple, upon which
all the known theories of perception proceed ; that, in order to

89 EXTERNAL PEKOSPTIOir.

explain tlie intercourse between the mind and distant objects, it
ig necessarj to suppose the existence of domething intermediate,
by which its perceptions are produced ; to the latter, the various
metaphorical expressions of ideas, species, forms, shadows, phaai-
tasms, images ; which, while thej amused the fancy with some
remote analogies to the objects of our senses, did not directly
revolt our reason, by presenting to us any of the tangible quali-
ties of body.

The doctrine of mediate perception, or of perception through
the intervention of images or ideas, — It was the doctrine of
Aristotle, (says Dr. Beid,) that aa our senses cannot receive
external material objects themselves, they receive their species;
that is, their images or forms, without the matter ; as wax re-
ceives the form of the seal, without any of the matter of it
These images or forms, impressed upon the senses, are called
sensible species; and are the objects only of the sensitive part
of the mind : but by various internal powers, they are retained,
refined, and spiritualized, so as to become objects of memory
and imagination ; and, at last, of pure intellection. When they
are objects of memory and of imagination, they get the name of
phantasms. When, by further refinement, and being stripped
of their peculiarities, they become objects of science, they are
called intelligible species; so that every immediate object, wheth-
er of sense, of memory, of ima^nation, or of reasonings must
be some phantasm, or species, in the mind itself.

The Platonists, too, although they denied the great doctrine
of the Peripatetics, that all the objects of human understanding
enter at first by the senses ; and maintained, that there exist
eternal and immutable ideas, which were prior to the objects of
sense, and about which all science was employed ; yet appear
to have agreed with them in their notions concerning the mode
in which external objects are perceived. This Dr. Reid infers,
partly from the silence of Aristotle about any difference beti^een
himself and his master upon this point; and partly fVom a pas-
sage in the seventh book of Plato's Republic, in which he com-
pares the process of the mind in perception to that of a person
in a cave, who sees not external objects themselves, but only
their shadows.

EXTEBKAL PEBOEPTIOH. 83

^'Two thousand years after Plato," (continues Dr. Beid,)
** Mr. Locke, who studied the operations of the human mind so
much, and with so great success, represents our manner of per-
ceiving external objects by a similitude very much resembling
that of the cave. * Methinks,' says he, ' the understanding is
not much unlike a closet, wholly shut from light, with only some
little opening left, to let in external visible resemblances or ideas
of things without. Would the pictures coming into such a dark
room but stay there, and lie so orderly as to be found upon oc-
casion, it would very much resemble the understanding of a
man, in reference to all objects of dght, and the ideas of
them.'

"Plato's subterranean cave, and Mr. Locke's dark closet,
may be applied with ease to all the systems of perceptions that
have been invented : for ikey aH suppose, that we perceive not
external objects immediately ; and that the immediate objects of
perception are only certain shadows of the external objects.
Those shadows, or images, which we immediately perceive, were
by the ancients caQed species, formes, phantasms. Since the time
of Des Cartes, they have commonly been called ideas ; and by
Mr. Hume, impressions. But all philosophers, from Plato to
Mr. Hume, agree in this, that we do not perceive external ob-
jects immediately ; and that the immediate object of perception
must be some image present to the mmd." On the whole. Dr.
Kcid remarks,.** that in their sentiments concerning perception,
there appears an uniformity which rarely occurs upon subjects
of so abstruse a nature."

Objections to this doctrine of mediate perception. — The very
short and imperfect view we have now taken of the common
theories of perception, is almost sufficient, without any commen-
tary, to establish the truth of the two general observations for-
merly made ; for they all evidently proceed on a supposition,
suggested by the phenomena of physics, (1.) that there miLst of
necessity exist some medium of communication between the ob-
jects of perception and the percipient mind; and they all indi-
cate a secret conviction in their authors, (2.) of the essential dis-
tinetion between mind and matter; which, although not ren«

84 XXTBXHAL PBBGBPTIOir. ^

dered, hj reflection, saffidentlj precise and satisfactory to show
them the absurdity of attempting to explain the mode of their
communication ; had yet such a degree of influence on their
speculations, as to induce them to exhibit their supposed medium
under as mf^erious and ambiguous a form as possiUsj in order
that it might remain doubtfyl to which of the two predicaments,
of body or mind, they meant that it should be referred. Bj
refining away the grosser qualities of matter^ and by aUasions
to some of the most aerial and magical appearances it assumes,
they endeavored, as it were, to spiritualize the nature of their
medium ; while at the same time, all their language concemiiig
it implied such a reference to matter, as was necessary for fiir-
nishing a plausible foundation for implying to it the received
maxims of natural philosophy.

Another observation, too, which was formerly hinted at, is
confirmed by the same historical review ; that, in the order of
inquiry, the phenomena of vision had first engaged the attention
of philosophers, and had suggested to them the greater part of
their language with respect to perception in general; and that,
in consequence of this circumstance, the conunon modes of ex-
pression on the subject, unphilosophical and fanciful at best,
even when applied to the sense of seeing, are, in the case of all
the other senses, obviously unintelligible and self<M>ntradictorj,
As to objects of eighty says Dr. Beid, I understand what is
meant by an image of their figure in the brain ; but how shall
we conceive an image of their cdor^ where there is absolute
darkness ? And, as to all other objects of sense, except figure
and color, I am unable to conceive what is meant by an image
of them. Let any man say, what he means by an image oj
heat and cold, an image of hardness or softness^ an image of
sound, or smeU, or taste. The word image, when applied to these
objects of sense, has absolutely no meaning. This palpable im-
perfection in the ideal theory has plainly taken rise from the
natural order in which the phenomena of perception present
themselves to the curiosity.

That in the case of the perception of distant objects, we are
naturally inclined to suspect, eith >r something to be emitted Jrom

XXTflRNAL PEBOEPTIOir. 85

Ae object to the organ of s$H$e, or some medium to intenrene de-
tweefi the olject and organ^ by means of which the former may
communicate an impulse to the latter, appears from the com-
mon modes of expression on the subject^ which are to be found
in all languages. In our own, for example, we frequently hear
the vulgar speak of Ught striking the eye ; not in consequence
of any philosophical theory they have been taught, but of their
own crude and undirected speculations. Perhaps there are
few men among those who have attended at all to the history
of their own thoughts, who will not recollect the influence of
these ideas, at a period of life long prior to the date of their
philosophical studies. Nothing, indeed, can be conceived more
simple and natural than their origin. When an object is
placed in a certain situation with respect to a particular organ
of the body, a perception arises in the mind ; when the object
is removed, the perception ceases. Hence we are led to appre-
hend some connection between the object and the perception ; and
as we are accustomed to believe, that matter produces its effects
by impulse, we conclude that there must be some material me-
dium intervening between the object and organ, by means of
which the impulse is communicated from the one to the other.
— That this is really the case, I do not mean to dispute. — I
think, however, it is evident, that the existence of such a me-
dium does not in any case appear a priori: and yet the natural
prejudices of men have given rise to an universal belief of it,
long before they were able to produce any good arguments in
support of their opinion.

Nor is. it only to account for the connection between the ob-
ject and the organ of sense, that philosophers have had recourse
to the theory of impulse. They have imagined that the impres-
sion on the organ of sense is communicated to the mind, in a «»m-
ilar manner. As one body produces a change in the state of
another by impulse, so it has been supposed, that the external
object produces perception, (which is a change in the state of
^he mind,) Jirst, by some material impression made on the organ
of sense ; and, secondly, by some material impression commu-
nicated from the organ to the mind along the nerves and brain.

86 EZTEBKAL PSBCSPTIOir.

These suppositions, indeed, as I had occasion already to hint,
were, in the ancient theories of perception, rather implied than
expressed ; but by modem philosophers, they have been stated
in the form of explicit propositions. ^^ As to the manner," says
Mr. Locke, ^ in which bodies produce ideas in us, it is mani-
festly by impulse, the only "^ay which we can conceive bodies
operate in." Dr. Clark has expressed the same idea still more
confidently, in the following passage of one of his letters to
Leibnitz. ^ Without being present to the images of the things
perceived, the soul could not possibly perceive them. A living
substance can only there perceive, where it is present. Noth-
ing can any more act, or be acted upon, where it is not present,
than it can when it is not." ** How body acts upon mind, or
mind upon body," (says Dr. Porterfield) " I know not ; but this
I am very certain of, that nothing can act, or be acted upon,
where it is not ; and therefore our mind can never perceive any
thing but its own proper modifications, and the various states of
the sensorium, to which it is present: so that it is not the ex-
ternal sun and moon, which are in the heavens, which our mind
perceives, but only their image or representation, impressed
upon the sensorium. How the soul of a seeing man sees these
images, or how it receives those ideas, from such agitations in
the sensorium, I know not ; but I am sure it can never perceive
the external bodies themselves, to which it is not present."

Theories of perception hy Monbo^do and Malehrcmche. — The
same train of thinking, which had led these philosophers to sup-
pose that external objects are perceived by means of species
proceeding from the object to the mind, or by means of some
material impression made on the mind by the brain, has sug-
gested to a late writer a very different theory ; that the mind,
when it perceives an external object, quits the hocfyy and is
present to the object of perception. "The mind," (says the
learned author of Ancient Metaphysics,) " is not where the
body is, when it perceives what is distant from the body, either
in time or place, because nothing can act, but when, and where,
it is. Now, the mind acts when it perceives. The mind,
Uterefore, of every animal who has memory or imagination, acts,

EXTERNAL PEltCKPTrOSP* 91

and hj ccmsequence exists, when and where the body is iSdf ^
for it perceives objects distant from the body both m time and
place." Indeed, if we take for granted, that in perception the
mind acts upon the object, or the object upon the mind, and, at
the same time, admit the truth of the maxim, that *^ nothing can
act but where it is," we must, of necessity conclude, either that
objects are perceived in a way similar to what is supposed in
the ideal theory, or that, in every act of perception, the soul
quits the body, and is present to the object perceived. And
accordingly, this alternative is expressly stated by Malebranche ;
who differs, however, from the writer last quoted, in the choice
which he makes of his hypothesis ; and even rests his proof of
its truth on the improbability of the other opinion. ^ I sup^
pose," says he, " that every one will grant, that we perceive not
external objects immediately, and of themselves. We see the
sun, the stars, and aai infinity of objects without us ; and it is
not at all likely that, upon such occasions, the soul saUies out of
the hodff in order to be present to the objects perceived. She
sees them not therefore by themselves ; and the immediate ob«
ject of the mind is not the thing perceived, but something which
is intimately united to the soul ; and it is that which I call an
idea: so that by the word idea^ I understand nothing else here
but th€st which is nearest to the mind when we perceive cmy oh'
jecL It ought to be carefully observed, that, in order to the
mind's perceiving any object, it is absolutely necessary that the
ideas of that object be actually present to it. Of this it is not
possible to doubt. The things which the soul perceives, are of
two kinds. They are either in the soul, or they are without
the soul. Those that are in the soul, are its own thoughts;
that is to say, all its different modifications. The soul has no
need of ideas for perceiving these things. But with regard to
things without the soul, we cannot perceive them but by meanil
of ideas."

All these theories appear to me to have taken their rise, j^r*f,
from an inattention to the proper object of philosophy, and, «e<?-
ondfyf from an apprehension, that we understand the connection
between impulse and motion better than any other physical

4

88 EXTEBKAL PEBCEPTIOIT.

feet. From the detail which I have given, it appears how ex-
tensive an influence this prejudice has had on the inquiries both
of natural philosophers and of metaphysicians.

II. OfDr, Reids Specvlaiions on the sv^ect of Perception. — It
was chiefly in consequence of the skeptical conclusions which
Bishop Berkeley and Mr. Hume had deduced from the ancient
theories of perception^ that Dr. Reid was led to caU them, in
question ; and he appears to me to have shown, in the most sat-
isfactory manner, not only that they are perfectly hypothetical,
but that the suppositions they involve are absurd and impossi*
ble. His reasonings, on this part of our constitution, undoubt-
edly form the most important accession which the philosophy
of the human mind has received since the time of Mr. Locke.

But although Dr. Reid has been at much pains to overturn
the old ideal system, he has not ventured to sttbstitute any hy-
pothesis of his own in its place. And, indeed, he was too well
acquainted with the limits prescribed to our philosophical inqui-
ries, to think of indulging his curiosity in such unprofitable
speculations. All, therefore, that he is to be understood as aim-
ing at, in his inquiries, concerning our perceptive powers, is to
give a precise statement of the fact, divested of all theoretical ex-
pressions ; in order to prevent philosophers from imposing on
themselves any longer, by words without meaning ; and to extort
from them an acknowledgment, that, with respect to the process
of nature in perception, they are no less ignorant than the
vijlgar.

Useful effect of plain truth in reminding tts of our ignorance j
and reviving our natural feelings. — According to this view of
Dr. Reid's reasonings on the subject of perception, the purpose
to which they are subservient may appear to some to be of no
very considerable importance ; but the truth is, that one of the
most valuable eiFects of genuine philosophy, is to remind us of
the limited powers of the human understanding ; and to revive
those natural feelings of wonder and admiration, at the spectacle
of the universe, which are apt to languish, in consequence of
long familiarity. The most profound discoveries which are
placed within the reach of our researches, lead to a confession

XXTEBNAL PERCEPTIOir. 89

of human ignorance ; for, while they flatter the pride of man,
and increase his power, by enabling him to trace the simple and
beautiful laws by whicH physical events are regulated, they call
his attention, at the same time, to those general and ultimate
facts which bound the narrow circle of his knowledge; and
which, by evincing to him the operation of powers, whose nature
must for ever remain unknown, serve to remind him of the in-
sufSciency of his feculty to penetrate the secrets of the universe.
Wherever we direct our inquiries ; whether to the anatomy and
physiology of animals, to the growth of vegetables, to the chem-
ical attractions and repulsions, or to the motions of the heavenly
bodies ; we perpetually perceive the eflfects of powers which
cannot belong to matter. To a certain length we are able to
proceed ; but tn every research, we meet with a line which no in"
dustry nor ingenuity can pass. It is a line, too, which is marked
with sufficient distinctness ; and which no man now thinks of
passing, who has just views of the nature and object of philoso-
phy. It forms the separation between that field which falls un-
der the survey of the physical inquirer, and that unknown region
of which, though it was necessary that we should be assured of
its existence, in order to lay a foundation for the doctrines of
natural theology, it hath not pleased the Author of the universe
to reveal to us the wonders, in this infant state of our being.
It was, in fact, chiefly by tracing out this line, that Lord Bacon
did so much service to science.

Beside this effect, which is common to all our philosophical
pursuits, of impressing the mind with a sense of that mysterious
agency, or efficiency, into which general laws must be resolved ;
they have a tendency, in many cases, to counteract the influence
of habit, in weakening those emotions of wonder and of curiosity^
which the appearances of nature are so admirably fitted to ex-
cite. For this purpose, it is necessary, either to lead the atten-
tion to facts which are calculated to strike by their novelty, or
to present familiar appearances in a new light : and such are
the obvious eflects of philosophical inquiries ; sometimes extend-
ing our views to objects which are removed from vulgar obser-
Tation ; and sometimes correcting our first apprehensions with

40 BXXKBBrAL PKBOSPTIOV.

reapeet ta Ofrdiniry events. The eommumeatioa ef motion hy
impulse, (ae I already hinted,) is as uiaooountable as aaj- ph^
nomenon we know ; and jet, most men are disposed to omsider
it as a fact which does not result from will, but from necessit7.
To such men, it maj be useful to direct their attention to the
universal law of gravitation ; which, although not more wondep-
ful in itself than the common ^ect of impulse, is more iitteo^
bj its novelty, to awaken their attention, and to excite tfaear
. curiosity.

Qmtrary effect of errmie&m i&eones.-'^li such, however, be
the effects of our philosophical pursuits when sacceafifnlly con^
ducted, it must be confessed that the tendency of imperfect or
erroneous theories is widely d^rent. By a speciouft st^ntion
of insuperable difficulties, they so dasule and bewilder the an^
derstanding, as, at once, to prevent us from advancing, with
steadiness, towards the limit of human knowledge ; and £rom
perceiving the existence of a region beyond it, into which phi*
losophy is not permitted to enter. In such cases^ it is the bosi*-
ness of genuine science to unmask the imposture, and to point
out clearly, both to the learned and to the vulgar, what reason
can, and what she cannot, accomplish. This, I apprehend, has
been done with respect to the history of om* perceptions, in the
most sati^actory manner, by Dr. Beid* When a person little
accustomed to metaphysical speculation is told, that, in the case
of volition, there are certain invisible fluids^ propagated from the
mind to the organ which is moved, and that, in the case of per-
eeption, the existence and qualities of the external object are
made known to us by means of spedes, or phantasms, or images,
which are present to the mind in the sensorium ; he is apt to
eonclude that the intercourse between mind and matter is mtich
less mysterious than he had supposed ; and that, although these
expressions may not convey to him any very distinct meaning,
their import is perfectly understood by philosophers. It is
now, I think, pretty generally acknowledged by physiologists,
that the influence of the will over the body, is a mystery which
has never yet been unfolded ; but singular as it may appear.
Dr., Beid was the first person wlio had courage to lay completely

Aside aU 'libe oohhuqb li jpothetieal Sangvmge .eoneemiiig peroqn
tion, and .to exldhit the dififioulty in .all its jnagndtiide, hj a plam
statement of the fact.

Statement of Dr. MeiiTs doctrine. — To wjtat then, it may be
asked, does this fitatement amount ? Merely to this ; that tJhe
mind is so formed, fhat certain impressions produced on oitr or^
gans of sense by external objects, are followed by correspondeol
sensations; and that the&e sensations, (^iisk hm^e no more m^
seadflmioe to the fmUiides of matter^ 'dmn fthe words of a Umgtmge
ha/ve io ike thtngf tkeg denote,) arejofhwed Ig a perception of
the existence and qualities of tbe bodies by which the impres-
sions are made : that all the sXe^ of this ^irocess aire equally
incomprehensible ; and tliat, ibr muy thing we caoi furove to i^e
fiontraiy, the eoimeetion between the jse9b$a6ion and :cbe percept
tioH, as weH as that be1w*een UImj impression and the sensation,
may he both arbitrary ; tliat It is therefore by no means impos-
sible, that our sensations may be merely the oocasians on wJxich
the correspondent perceptions ane exoited; .and .that,iit mj
rote, the eonsideratiDn >ef these «eii6atl<n)s, whicih are ^rttribvtes
of mind, «an i^row ^ne Kght 'on '^e manner in whidi we acquu*e
our Imowledge of the existence and qualities of body,* From

* [The distinction between sensation and ,pereqiaioH m ^ihe iMat4
and in\portaut feature of Dr. Beid 'is phUoso^pby. The ibUowiiig fizpliau^
tion of it is nearly in his own words^ though it is feirmed bj farni^ias
together many ftcntenees from different portions €Kf his iaqgmrf jBBui im
Essays.

The same mode of expression ds used to deoiote seaaatias .and peneptim:;
the things coalesce in our Imtiginatiion, And are ecknaidered as one sinqile
operation, for the ordinarj purposes of Jdfe do sot xe^ube -then to be ;di»>
tinguished. But the philosopher needs to distin^ah them, and is Itble tm
analyze the operation compoianded of them. Thus, — Ifsdapam.; I me
a tree. The first of these propositions denotes a senMrfion, the last a perw
ceptixm.

Sensation has no object distinct fiom itself, Wh^i I am pained, I <iinn«i
say that Gie pain I feci is one thing, and mif feeling it is another thing. They
are one and the same thing, and cannot be disjoined even in imaginodon.
The sensation, moreoyer, can have no esdfiteoce b«t in a semtieiit »ind ;
pain, when it is not felt, has no existenjoe.

Ikrcqxlior^ on thd other hand, olvpay$ hm tm itijeet dktmA from JliijfC
4*

42 XXTEBKAL PEKOBFTIOir.-

ibis view of Uie subject, it follows, that it is the external ohfeeii
ihemseheSj sad not anj species or images of these objects, that

' ■■ ■? *

Thus, / perceive a tree ; there is here an object which is perceived, and an
act of the mind by which it is perceived ; and the two are not only distin-
guishable, bat are extremely unlike in their natures. And the tree exists,
whether it is perceived or not. The tree, also, which is the object per-
ceived, is made up of a trunk, branches, and leaves ; the act of the mind
by which it is perceived has neither trunk, branches, nor leaves.

Every perception is accompanied by a tenaatUm, without which it could
not exist But every senatUion has not a perception as its necessary con-
comitant; it may exist alone. When I smell a rose, there is in this opera-
tion both sensation and perception. The agreeable odor I feel, consid-
ered by itself, without relation to any external object, is merely a sensation.
This sensation may be felt, when no rose is perceived ; as when I enter a
room strongly impregnated with otto of rose, though the flower — the rose
itself-^ is not there. This sensation can be notMng else than it is felt to
be ; its very essence consists in being felt, and when it is not felt, it is
not.

Now let us attend to the perception which we have in smeUing a rose.
Perception always has an external object ; and the object of my percep-
tion, in this case, is that quality in the rose which I discern by or through
the sense of smell. This quality in the rose, which produces an effect on
my olfactory nerves, is the object of perception ; and the act by which I
recognize it, and believe it to exist, is perception.

Sir W. Hamilton even lays it down as a general rule, that, above a cer-
tain point, ike stronger the Sensation, the weaker the Perception; and the (US'
tincter the Percqfition, the less obtrusive the Sensation, In c&er words. Pet'
teptkn and Sensation are always Jbund in an inverse ratio to each other, Thos,
if I strike my hand Ughtiy against the comer of the table, the sensation
which is produced is slight, and I have a very distinct perception of the
hardness and angularity of the table which produce the sensation. But if
I strike my hand violently against it, the sensation produced is acute and
painful, and, my attention being absorbed by it,^ I hardly perceive the shape
of the object wMch has done me the injury. So, again, if I look at the
unclouded sun at mid-day, the sensation produced is so vivid and overpow-
ering, that I have hardly any perception either of its form or color. But
if I^Iook Ikt the same object towards evening, when it is partially obscured
by clouds, the sensation is light and agreeable, and I have a very distinct
perception of the sun's circular form and red or golden color.

But observe, the sensation which is felt, and the quality which is per-
ceived, are both called by the same name. In the instance first given, tht
tnuU of a rose is the name given to both. Hence has arisen the curious
qnestion, whether the smell be in the rose, or in the mind that feels

EXTERNAL PEBGEPTIOHT. 43

Ae mind perceives : and that, although by the constitation of our
nature, certain sensations are rendered the constant antecedents
of our perceptions, jet it is just as difficult to explain how our
perceptions are obtained by their means, as it would be upon
the supposition that the mind were all at once inspired with
them, without any concomitant sensations whatever.*

These remarks are general, and apply to all our various per-
ceptions ; and they evidently strike at the root of all the com-
mon theories upon the subject. The laws, however, which reg-

it. The answer is, that there are two different things signified by tho
tmdl of a rose; one, the sensation, is in the mind, and cannot exist out of
the mind ; the other, the quality perceived, is in the rose. These two
things are called by the same name, not on account of their similitude, for
they do not at all resemble each other, but on account of their constant
concomitancy. They always go together. All the names we have for
smells, tastes, sounds, and for the various degrees of heat and cold, have a
like ambiguity ; they signify both a sensation, and a quality perceived by
means of that sensation. The first is the sign, the last the thing signified.

We say that we fed the toothache, not that we perceive it. On the other
hand, we say that we perceive the color of a body, not that we feel it. Is
there any reason for this difference of phraseology 1 I apprehend that, in
both cases, sensation and perception are conjoined. But in the toothache,
the sensation, being very painful, engrosses the attention ; so that we speak
of it as if it were felt only, and not perceived. But in seeing a colored
body, the sensation is indifferent, and draws no attention. The quality in
the body, which we call its color, is the only object of attention ; and
therefore we speak of it as if it were perceived, and not felt.]

* This language has been objected to, as bordering on mysticism,
whereas, in truth, it is merely a statement of a fact, accompanied with an
acknowledgment of our total ignorance of the manner in which it is to be
explained. Is it any thing more than an extension to the phenomena of
perception of what Mr. Hume has so justly and so profoundly remarked
concerning the phenomena of voluntary motion ? "Is there any principle
in all nature more mysterious than the union of soul and body, by which a sup-
posed spiritual substance acquires such cm influence over a material one, thai the
most refined thought is able to actuate the grossest matter f Were we empowered,
by a secret wish, to remove mountains, or control the planets in their orbits, tlds
extensive authority would not be more extraordinary, nor more beyond our compr^
hension** I do not know that Mr. Hume was ever charged with any ten-
dency to mysticism ; and yet the two cases seem to me to be perfectly anal*
ogonB.

vlate theee perciaptioBSt are dififereot in the case ^the aMTmiiM
senseSy and fonn a very curious o1]^ct of pbilosoplkical ioquirj.
Those, in particular, which regulate the acquired percqitious of
sight, lead to some very interesting and important speculations ;
and, I think, have never yet been explained in a manner coai-
pletely satisfactory.

ni. Of the Origin of o/wrKnondeife. — The pbilosop^eFS Who
endeavored to explain the operations of the human mind by tbe
theory of ideas, and who took for granted, thai^ in fsv«^ exaiv
tion of thought, there exists in the mind some object distinct
from the thinking substance, were naturally led to inq^uire
whence these ideas derive their origin ; in particular, whether
they are conveyed to the mind from without by means of the
senses, or form p£u*t of its original furniture ?

With respect to this question, the opinions of the ancients
were various ; but as the influence of these opinions on the pre-
vailing systems of the present age is not very considerably it
is not necessary, lor any of the purposes I have in view in this
work, to consider them particularly. The modems, too, have
been much divided on the subject; some holding with Des
Cartes^ that the mind is furnished with certain innaJte ideas;
others, with Mn Locke, that all our ideas may be traced isossi
9msaUon cmi r^fieotion ; and many, (especially among the later
metaphysicians in France,) that they may be all traced frona
sensation alone.

Of these theories, that of Mr. Locke deserves more particu-
larly our attention ; as it has served as a basis of most ^ th«
metaphysical systems which have appeared since his time ; and
as the -difference between it and the theory which derives all
our ideas from sensation alone, is rather apparent than real.

The theory of Locke. — In order to convey a just notion of
Mr. Locke's doctrine concerning the origin of our ideas, it is
necessary to remark, that he refers to senscUion aH the ideas
which we are supposed to receive by the external senses ; our
ideas, for example, of colors, of sounds, of hardness, of extension,
of motion ; and, in short, of all the qualities and modes of mat-
ter : to reflection, the ideas of our own mental operations which

EXTERNAL PERCEPTIOK. 45

we derive from consciousness ; our ideas, for example, of mem-
ory, of imagination, of volition, of pleasure, and of pain. These
two sources, according to him, furnish us with all our simple
ideas, and the only power which the mind possesses over them,
is to perform certain operations, in the way of composition, ab-
straction, generalization, etc., on the materials which it thus
collects in the course of its experience. The laudable desire of
Mr. Locke to introduce precision and perspicuity into meta-
physical speculations, and his anxiety to guard the mind against
error in general, naturally prepossessed him in favor of. a doc-
trine, which, when compared with those of his predecessors, was
intelligible and simple ; and which, by suggesting a method, ap-
parently easy and palpable, of analyzing our knowledge into its
elementary principles, seemed to furnish an antidote against
those prejudices which had been favored by the hypothesis of
innate ideas.

Refuiation of it hy Dr, Reid, — If Dr. Reid's reasonings on
the subject of ideas be admitted, all these speculations with
respect to their origin fall to the ground ; and the question to
which they relate is reduced merely to a question of fact ; con-
cerning the occasions on which the mind is first led to form those
simple notions into which our thoughts may be analyzed, and
which may be considered as the principles or elements of hu-
man knowledge. With respect to many of these notions, this
inquiry involves no difficulty. No one, for example, can be at
a loss to ascertain the occasions on which the notions of cohrs
and sounds are first formed by the mind : for these notions are
confined to individuals who are possessed of particidar senses^
and cannot, by any combination of words, be conveyed to those
who never enjoyed the use of them. The history of our
notions of extension and figure^ (which may be suggested to the
mind by the exercise either of sight or of touch,) is not alto-
gether so obvious ; and accordingly it has been the subject of
various controversies. To trace the origin of these, and of our
other simple notions with respect to the qualities of matter ; or,
in other words, to describe the occasions on which, by the laws
of our nature, they are suggested to the mind, is one of the lead'

M KZTSBHAl. FEXOEPTIOK^

mg ebjeeta of Dr. Beid's inquiry, in his analjtts of oar external

senses; in which he carefullj avoids everj hypothesis with
respect to the inexplicable phenomena of perception and ci
diought, and confines himself scrupulously to a literal state-
ment of facts. Similar inquiries to these may be proposed,
concerning the occasions on which we form the notions of timej
of motion, of number^ of causation, and an infinite variety of
others. Thus, it has been observed by different authors, that
every perception of change suggests to the mind the notion of a
eause, without which that change could not have happened.
Dr. Beid remarks, that, without the facuhy of memory, our
perceptive powers could never have led us to form the idea of
motion. I shall afterwards show, in the sequel of this work,
that without the same faculty of memory, we never could have
fbrmed the notion of Hme ; and that without the faculty of
abstraction, W6 could not have formed the notion of number^
Such inquiries with respect to the origin of our knowle^;e, are
eurious and important ; and if conducted with judgm^it, they
may lead to the most certain conclusions; as they aim at
nothing more than to ascertain facts, which, although not
obvious to superficial observers, may yet be discovered by
patient investigation.

Whether all knowledge is derived ultimately from our sensa^
tions, — With respect to the general question, Whether all our
knowledge may be ultimately trt^^d from our sensations?
I shall- only observe at present, that the opinion we fi»m couf*
ceming it is (^ much less consequence than is commonly sup*
posed. That the mind cannot, without the grossest absurditj,
be considered in the light of a receptacle, which is gradually
furnished from without by materials introduced by the channel
of the senses ; nor in that of a tahUa rasa, upon which copies or
resemblances of things external are imprinted ; I have already
shown at sufficient length. Although, therefore, we should
acquiesce in the conclusion, that, without our organs of sense^
the mind must have remained destitute of knowledge, this con^
eession could have no tendency whatever to favor the principles
of materialism ; as it implies nothing more thaa that tb$^ t n»*

JIATliKHAI> TlSMCKmOm 4f ^

f¥tssiem$ madf^ o^ €wr $eme» hy- extennl objects fumUh flW
0€Cfm&M on which the mtndyl:>j the laws of its coiistitution, tt
ied to perceive the quaiiiies of the material world^ and to exert all
the difierent modifications of thought of which it is capable.

From the very sKght view of the subject, however, which has
been akeady given, it is sufiicientlj evident, that this doctrine,
which refers the origin of all our knowledge to the occasions
furnished bj sense, must be received with many limitations.
That those ideas, which Mr. Locke calls ideas of refieetiom^ (or
in other words, the notions which we form of the subjects of
our own oonsciopsness,) are not suggested to the mind immedi«
ately by the sensations lurkiog £rom the use of our organs of
perception, is granted on all hands ; and, therefore,, the amount
of the doctrine now mentioned is nothing mcHre than this ; that
the &rst occasions on whidi our various inteUeetual &£ulties are
exercised, are ftimished by the impressions made on our organs
of sense ; and consequently, that, without these impressions, it
would have been impossible for us to arrive at the knowle^e
of our fiumlties. Agreeabfy to this explanation of the doetrme,.
it may undoubtedly be said with pkiusibtlity, (and I am indined
to believe, with truth,) that the occasions on which edi Cfwr no*
tions are formed, an furnished either immediate^ or vMmaiehff
hf sense ; but if I am not much mistaken, this is not the mean*
ing whieh is ecMnmonly annexed to the doctrine, either by its
advocates or their opp<ments.* One thing at least is obviom^
that, in this sense, it does not lead to those consequences whidk
have interested one party of philosophers in its defence, and
another in its refutation.

The f acuities of fiie mindjm^ come into operation before wm
know of the existence of the material world, — There is another
very important consideration which deserves our attention in
this argument : that, even on the supposition that certain im»

* [''All knowledge begins with experience/' says Kant, "but all knowl*
«sdge is not derived from experience." I may always wake up when '.'«ie
clock strikes Jive; but it is not necessarily the striking of the clock which
wskMine^ap^]

48 BXTEBKAL PEBCBFTION.

pressions on onr organs ef sense are necessary to awaken tbe
mind to a consciousness of its own existence, and to give rise to
the exercise of its yaripus faculties ; jet aU this might have hap-
pened mthotU our having any knowledge of the qualities^ or even
of the existence, of the material world. To facilitate the admis-
sion of this proposition, let us suppose a being formed in every
other respect like man ; but possessed of no senses, excepting
those of hearing and smelling, I make choice of these two
senses, because it is obvious, that, by means of them alone, we
never could have arrived at the knowledge of the primary qual-
ities of matter, or even of the existence of things extemaL All
that we could possibly have inferred from our occasional sensa-
tions of smell and sound, would have been that there existed
some unknown cause by which they were produced.

Let us suppose, then, a particular sensation to be excited in
the mind of such a being. The moment this happens, he must
necessarily acquire the knowledge of two facts at once : that of
the existence of the sensation ; and that of his own existence, as
a sentient being. After the sensation is at an end, he can re-
member he felt it ; he can conceive that he feels it again. If he
has felt a variety of different sensations, he can compare them
together in respect of the pleasure or the pain they have af-
forded him ; and will naturally desire the return of the agreea-
ble sensations, and be afraid of the return of those which were
painful. If the sensations of smell and sound are both excited
in his mind at the same time, he can attend to either of them he
chooses, and withdraw his attention from the other ; or he can
withdraw his attention from both, and fix it on some sensation
he has felt formerly. In this manner, he might be led, merely
by sensations existing in his mind, and conveying to him no in-
formation concerning matter, to exercise many of his most im-
portant Acuities; and amidst all these different modifications
and operations of his mind, he would feel, with irresistible con-
viction, that they all belong to one and • the same sentient and
intelligent being ; or, in other words, that they are all modifica-
tions and operations of himself. I say nothing, at present, of
the various simple notions, (or simple ideas, as tliey are com-

ATTENTION. 4^

monlj called,) Tvhich would arise in his mind; for example, the
ideas of wwm&er, ofdurcUt(m,o£ cause and effect, of personal iden-
tity; all of which, though perfectly nnlike his sensations, could
not fail to be suggested by means of them. Such a being, then,
might know all that we know of mind at present ; and as his
hngTiage would be appropriated to mind solely, and not borrowed
hy analogy from material phenomena, he would even possess
important advantages over us in conducting the study of pneu-
matology.

From these observations it sufficiently appears, what is the
real amount of the celebrated doctrine, which refers the origin
of all our knowledge to our sensations ; and that, even granting
it to be true, (which, for my own part, I am disposed to do, in
the sense in which I have now explained it,) it would by no
means follow from it, that our notions of the operations of mind,
nor even many of those notions which are commonly suggested
to us, in the first instance, by the perception of external objects,
are f^ecessarily subsequent to our knowledge of the qualities, or
even of the existence, of matter.

CHAPTER II.

OP ATTENTION-

AiSerUion necessary to memory, if not to perception, — When
we are deeply engaged in conversation, or occupied with any
speculation that is interesting to the mind, the surrounding ob-
jects etiher do not produce in us the perceptions they are fitted
to excite ; or these perceptions are instantly forgotten. A clock,
for example, may strike in the same room with us, without our
bein»3r able, next moment, to recollect whether we heard it or
not.

In l\ese, and similar cases, I believe, it is commonly taken
5

finr grantody that we really do not pereeive the extomaL^objed

From some analogous facts, however, I am inclined to sospeel
that this opinion is not well founded. A person who falls asle^
at church, and is suddenly awaked, is unable to recoUeet tho
last words spoken by the preacher ; or even to recollect that be
was speaking at all. And yet, that sleep does not suspaatd en-
tirely the powers of perception may be inferred from this, that
if the preacher were to make a sudden pause in his discourse,
every person in the congregation who was asleep would itt*
stanUy awake. In this case, therefore, it appears, that ap^nan
t9tay be comeimu qf a pereepHwi, wMaut beinff aUe afierwcardt
U^ recollect iL

Other inUances iUuHr a/ting this /aw^.-^Many other iastaacea
of the same general faet might be produced. When we read a
book, (especially in a language which is not perfectly familiar
to us,) we must perceive successively every different letter, and
must afterwards combine these letters into syllables and words^
before we comprehend the meaning of a sentence^ This pro-
cess, however, passes through the mind, without leaving any
trace in the memory.

It has been proved by optical writers, that, in perceiving the
distances of visible objects from the eye^ there is a judgment of the
understanding antecedent to the perception.^ In some cases, this

* [" It is, I think, agieed by all," says Berkley, * that distance of itself,
and immediately, cannot be seen. For distance being a line directed end-
wise to the eye, it projects only one point in the fund of the eye ; which
point remains invariably the same, whether the distance be longer or
shorter." Take the following example. If a traveller on a dark night
and a strange road sees before him a fixed light which is a mere bright
point, he cannot tell whether it is a rod or a mile distant from him ; he
may even confound it with a star near the horizon. If the light, however,
has a visible magnitude, and especially if he can see it flicker, so that he
can form some guess as to its origin and nature, he may estimate its dis-
tance very correctly. But even in this case, he does not see its distance^
but infers it from the magnitude, color, flickering, or some other circum
stance which previous experience has taught him the meaning of.

Many other facts show the necessity of experience before we can obfesiii
carraetnotJ»ix»of distanosfromtheeyealKHM. We are n«b so Brach i

judgment ia founded on a ▼arietj.of circnmstanoes eombined
together ;. the conformation of the organ necessarj for distinct
vision; the inclination of the optic axes; the distinctness 09
indistinctness of the minute parts of the object ; the distances ot
the intervening objects from each other, and from the eje ; and,
perhaps, on other circumstances besides these : and jet, in con-
sequence of our familiarity with such processes from our earliest
infancy, the perception seems to be instantaneous ; and it re«
quires much reasoning, to oonvinee persons unaccustomed to
phik>sophieal speculations,^ that the &ct is otlierwise.

Another instance, of a still more familiar nature, may be of
nse^ for the further ilhistratioii of the same subject. It is well
known that our thoughts do not succeed each other at random, hut
according to certain laws c^ associ&Honj which modem phik)80«
pbers have been at much pains to investigate. It frequently^
however, happens, particularly when the nund is animated by
conversation, that it makes a sudden transition from one subject
to another, which, at first view, appears to be very remote from
it ; and that it requires a considerabie degree of reaction, to en^
ahle a person himsdf by whom the transition was made, to as*
certain what were the intermediate ideas. A curious instance of
such a sudden transition is mentioned by Hobbes in his Levia^
than. ^^ In a company," (says he,) ^ in which the conversatioB
turned (Hi the civil war, what could be o<mceived more imperti*
Bent, than for a person to ask abruptly. What was the value of
a Roman denarius ? On a little reflection, however, I was easily
able to trace the train of thought which suggested the questions

tomed to see objects at a distancefrom ns in a vertical line, as in a korutoit'
ttd one ; hence, the same Tisible appearance, if placed directly above or be-
low our own position, does not suggest the same magnitude, as when seen,
at an equal distance on a level with the eye. If we are standing on the sea-
shore, a ship distant a few hundred feet appears of the natural size, and
men, not pigmies, walk her deck. But ascend to the brow of the cliff,
and

« Tha flsh^rmen, that walk upon the teach,
Appear like mice ; and yon tall anchoring bazk
Diminished to her cock ; her oock, a buoy
JOaoat toosflwUl tv lighfc."]

•52 ATTENTION.

tat the ori^al subject of discourse naturaDj introduced the his-
tory of the king, and of the treachery of those who surrendered
his person to his enemies ; this again introduced the treachery
of Judas Iscariot, and the sum of money which he received for
his reward. And all this train of ideas/' says Hobbes, ^ passed
through the mind of the speaker in a twinkhng, in consequence
of the velocity of thought." It is by no means improbable, that
if the speaker himself had been interrogated about the connec-
tion of ideas, which led him aside from the original topic of dis-
course, he would have found himself at first, at a loss for an
answer.

In the instances which have been last mentioned, we have
also a proo^ that a perception or an tdeOy which passes through
the mind withaiU leaving any trace in ike memory^ may yet serve
to introduce other ideas connected with it by the laws of associa-
tion. Other proofs of this important fact shall be mentioned
afterwards.

When a perception or an idea passes through the mind, with-
out our being able to recollect it the next moment, the vulgar
themselves ascribe our want of memory to a want of attention.
Thus, in the instance already mentioned, of the clQck, a person,
upon observing that the minute-hand had just passed twelve,
would naturally say, that he did not attend to the clock when it
was striking. There seems, therefore, to be a certain effort of
mind upon which, even in the judgment of the vulgar, memory
in some measure depends ; and which they distinguish by the
name of attention.

The connection between attention and memory has been re-
marked by many authors. " Nee dubium est," (says Quinctil-
ian, speaking of memory,) ^ quin plurimum in *hac parte valeat
mentis intentio, et velut acies lurainum a prospectu rerum quas
intuetur non aversa." [" There is no doubt that great effect is
produced by close attention, just as vision is most perfect when
the eyes are steadily fixed on the object seen *") The same ob-
servation has been made by Locke, and by n.^.t of the writers
on the subject of education.

Attention a separate faculty of the mind. — But although the

ixmneclaon between attention and memory hae b&en firequentlf
remarked in general terms, I do not recollect that the power of
attention has been mentioned by any of the writers on pneuma-
tology, in their enumeration of the faculties of the mind ; * nor
has it been considered by any one, so far as I know, as of suffi-
cient importance to deserve a particular examination. Helve-
tins, indeed, in his very ingenious work, De VEsprit, has entitled
one of his chapters, De Nneffcde capadte d^AttexUion; but
what he consideirs under this article, is chiefly that ci^acity of
patient inquiry, (or as he calls it, c&niinuaus atte»ti<m,) upon
whicK philosqphical genius seems in a great measure to depeadt
He has also remarked, with the writers already mentioned, that
the impression which any thing makes on the memory, dependfl
much on the degree of attention we give to it ; but he has taken
no notice of that effort which is absolutely essential to the low-
est degree of memory. It is this e£fort that I pixipose to conr
aider at present : not those difiTerent degrees of attention which
imprint things more or less deeply on the mind, but that act or
effort without which we have no recollection or memory whatever.
Some attention necessary for any act of memory whatever, —
With respect to the nature of this effort, it is perha^ jpo^possible
for us to obtain much satisfaction. We often speak of greater
and leas degrees of attention ; and, I believe, in these .case&^
conceive the mind (if I may use the expression) to exert itself
with different degrees of energy. I am doubtful, howev^i^ if
this expression conveys any distinct meaning. For my own
part, I am inclined to suppose, (though I would by no means h%
understood to speak with confidence,) that it is essential to mem-
ory, thoit the perception or the idea that we would wish to rememherp
should remain iw the mdndfor a certain space of time, and should

* Some important observations on the subject of attention occur in dif-
ferent parts of Dr. Rcid's writings. To this ingenious author we are
indebted for the remark, that attention to things external is properly called
observation; and attention to the subjects of our consciousness, re/?ec<ton.
He has also explained the causes of the' peculiar difficulties which acco»-
pany this last exertion of the mind, and which form the chief obstacles io
the progress of pneumatolqgj.

5*

54 ATTENTION.

be eontemplated hy it exchmvely of every thing else ; and that
attention con8ists partly (perhaps entirely) in the effort of the
mind to detain the idea or the perception, and to exclude the
other objects that solicit its notice.

Notwithstanding, however, the difficulty of ascertaining in
what this act of the mind consists, every person must be satis-
fied of its reality from his own consciousness ; and of its essen-
tial connection with the power of memory. I have already
mentioned several instances of ideas passing through the mind,
without our being able to recollect them next moment. Th§se in-
stances were produced, merely to illustrate the meaning I annex
to the word txUention ; and to recall to the recollection of the
reader, a few striking cases, in which the possibility of our car-
rying on a process of thought which we are unable to attend to
at the time, or to remember afterwards, is acknowledged in the
received systems of philosophy. I shall now mention some
other phenomena, which appear to me to be very similar to
these, and to be explicable in the same manner ; although they
have commonly been referred to very different principles.

Thefdcility of (xction which resttlts from hdbit, explained,—'
The wonderful effect of practice in the formation of habits, has
been often and justly taken notice of, as one of the most curious
circumstances in the human constitution. A mechanical opera-
tion, for example, which we at first performed with the utmost
difficulty, comes, in time, to be so familiar to us, that we are
able to perform it without the smallest danger of mistake ; even
while the attention appears to be completely engaged with other
subjects. The truth seems to be, that in consequence of the
association of ideas, the different steps of the process present
themselves successively to the thoughts without any [effort of]
recollection on our part, and with a degree of rapidity propor-
tioned to the length of our experience, so as to save us entirely
the trouble of hesitation and reflection, by giving us every mo-»
ment a precise and steady notion of the effect to be produced.*

* I do not mean by this observation, to call in question the effects which
die practice of the mecLanical arts has on the muscles of the body. TbeM

ATTENTION. 55

In the case of some operations which are yery familiar to ns,
we find ourselves unable to attend to, or to recollect, the acts of
the will by which they are preceded ; and accordingly, some
philosophers of great eminence have called in question the ex
istence of such volitions; and have represented our habitual
actions as involuntary and mechanicaL But surely the circum-
stance of our inability to recollect our volitions, does not author-
ize us to dispute their possibility ; any more than our inability
to attend to the process of the mind, in estimating the distance
of an object from the eye, authorizes us to affirm that the per-
ception is instantaneous. Nor does it add any force to the ob-
jection to urge, that there are instances in which we find it diffi-
cult, or perhaps impossible, to check our habitual actions by a
contrary volition. For it must be remembered, that this con-
trary volition does not remain with us steadily during the whole
operation ; but is merely a general intention or resolution, which
is banished from the mind, as soon as the occasion presents
itself with which the habitual train of our thoughts and volitions
is associated.*

It may indeed be said, that these observations only prove the
possibility that our habitual actions mmf be voluntary. But if
this be admitted, nothing more can well be required ; for surely.

are as indisputable as its effects on the mind. A man who has been accns-
tomed to write with his right hand, can write better with his left hand, than
another who never practised the art at all ; bnt he cannot write so well
with his left hand as with his right. The effects of practice, therefore, it
shoold seem, are produced partly on the mind, and partly on the body.

* The solution of this difficulty, which is given by Dr. Forterfield, if
somewhat curious. ** Such is the power of custom and habit, that many
actions which are no doubt voluntary, and proceed from our mind, are in
certain circumstances rendered necessary, so as to appear altogether me-
chanical, and independent of our wills ; but it does not from thence fol-
low, that our mind is not concerned in such motions, but only that it has
imposed upon itself a law, whereby it regulates and governs them to the
greatest advantage. In all this, there is nothing of intrinsical necessity ;
the mind is at absolute liberty to act as it pleases ; but being a wise agent,
H cannot dioose but to act in conformity to this law, by reason of the utilr
|ty and advantage that arises from this way of acting."

if these phoBoncflift 'KPt liActaAy ^arpltcrfde ^pm the iuiowii md
ackoowledged lawe of tihe hmaoao vdnd, it would be unphiio-
sophical to devke a new prinoiple, on purpose to aecount for
them. The dootrine, thereibre, which I have laid down wi&
respeot to the nature of habits, is b j no means foiyuided on hy*
pothesis, aa has been oljjected to me bf some of mj friends;
but on the contrarj:, the •charge of hypothesis fiills on those who
attempt to eyplaiin them bj sajing l^iat dkey are meiAanieal w
mutomcOic ; ,a •doctrine whicifa, if it is at afi inteUigible, must be
understood as impljing iJie «xisitenoe of some law of our ^^easti-
tatioii, whi^ has been hitherto unobserred bj philo6(^hen?
and to wJuch, I believe, it wiH ht <liffienlt te find anjihing
analogous in our <eaBfititiitiaD«

Meid mnd Hafl^ ^n hakitt in vkidh ho^ hoig m»i mimd 4Kn
0/meemetL — In juiie fQS<egoing obscKTjrtians, I bai^e had in '
a faForite dootidne of Dr. lEiartleT's, wihieh iias been :
also of late b j & miieh iiigber autiboritj^ I vieaa Dr. Bead.

^ Habit," ^(sajrs this ingenioos autiun*,) ^ differs from tnstiitcty
not in its nature, but in its origin ; the last being oateNcal, liio
&rat taequired. Both cfierate mthont mA or intemtion, without
bought, and tiioDefape may be ealled meehanieai prijiieipleB.*
In another passage, ihe (expresses biassekf i^os : ^ 1 ^onceiTe it
to be a part of our constitution, that what we have been accuse
tomed to do, we acquire not only a facility, but a prpneness, to
do on like occasions ; so that it requires a particular will or
effort to forbear it; hut to do it requires, yery oftei^ so will
at aU."

The samefdootrine ss laid down sitili more e3q>lieiti7 by Dr.
Hartley.

** Suppose,** says he, " a person who has a perfectly voluntary
command over his jQngers, to begin to learn to {^y on the harp-
sichord. The first step is to move bis ifingers from key to key,
with a slow motion, looking at the notes, and exerting a» ex-
press act of volition in every motion. By degrees, the motions
dling to one another and to the impressions of the notes, in the
way of association so often mentioned, the acti) of volition £;eow
ing less aiid less eji^pvess «U 4ibe tume, taU at last &eiy 'I

MTPvmrronk 8?

•TaneacBDt and imperceptibhsw for an experfl performer wilt
plaj from, notes, or ideas laid up in the memory, and at th<3
aamer tim^ caetry on quite a different train of t loughts in his
mind ;. or even hold a conversaition with another. Whence we
maj conclude, that there is no interyention of the idea, or state
of mmd^ eaUed the will." Cases of this sort, Hartley tails,
^ transitioiiB of voluntary actions into automatic ones."

OM^viaiian cf Hardens d»€0nne. — ^I cannot help thinking
it more philosophical to suppose, that those actions which are
originally voluntary, always continue so ; although, in the case
of c^rations which are become habitual in consequence of long
practice, we may not be able to reca&ect every different volition*
Thus, m the cas« <si a performer on the harp^chord, I appre^
hend,. that there is an act c^ the will preceding every motion of
every finger, although he may not be able to recollect these vo«
lition» a^rwards ; and although he may, during the time of his
performance, be employed in carrying on a separate train of
thought. For, it must be remarked that the most rapid per-
former can, when he pleases, pky so slowly, as to be able to
attend to, and to recollect, every separate act of his will in the
various movements of his fingers ; and he can gradually acceler-
ate the rate of his exeeutkni, till he is unable to recollect these
acts. Now in this instance, one of two suppositions must be
made; the one is, that the (^erations in the two cases are car-
ried on precisely in the same manner, and differ only in the
degree of rapidity ; and when this rapidity exceeds a certain
rate, the acts of the will are too momentary to leave any im-
pression on the memory. The other is, that when the rapidity
exceeds a certam rate, the operation is taken entirely out of our
hands ; and is carried on by some unknown power, of the na-
ture of which we are as ignorant, as of the cause of the circuliu-
tion of the blood, or of the motion of the intestines.* The last

♦ This seems to have heen the opinion ofBishop Berkeley, "whose doc-
trine concerning the nature of our habitual actions, coincides with that of
the two philosophers already quoted. ** It mast be owned, we are not
oonscious of the systole and diastole of the heart, or the motion of the diar

58 ▲TTBNTION.

gapposition seems to me to be somewhat similar to that of a
man, who should maintain, that, although a bodj projected with
a moderate velocity is seen to pass through all the intermediate
spaces in moving from one place to another, jet we are not en-
titled to conclude, that this happens when the body moves so
quickly as to become invisible to the eye. The former suppo-
sition is supported by the analogy of many other facts in our
constitution. Of some of these, I have already taken notice ;
and it would be easy to add to the number. An expert accourU-
ant, for example, can sum up, almost with a single glance of his
eye, a long column of figures. He can tell the sum with uner-
ring certainty ; while, at the same time, he is unable to recol-
lect any one of the figures of which that sum is composed : and
yet nobody doubts, that each of these figures has passed through
his mind, or supposes, that when the rapidity of the progress
becomes so great that he is unable to recollect the various steps
of it, he obtains the result by a sort of inspiration. Thi^ last
supposition would be perfectly analogous to Dr. Hartley's doc-
trine concerning the nature of our habitual exertions.

Rapidity of the mind^s action. — The only plausible objection
which, I think, can be ofiered to the principles I have endeav-
ored to establish on this subject, is founded on the astonishing,
and almost incredible, rapidity they necessarily suppose in our
intellectual operations. When a person, for example, reads
aloud, there must, according to this doctrine, be a separate vo-
lition preceding the articulation of every letter ; and it has been

phragm. It may not, nevertheless, be thence inferred, that unknowing
nature can act regularly as well as ourselves. The true inference is, that
the self thinking individual, or human person, is not the real author of
those natural motions. And, in fact, no man blames himself, if they are
wrong, or values himself, if they are right. The same may be said of the
fingers of a musician, which some object to be moved by habit, which nn-
derstands not ; it being evident that what is done by rule, must proceed
from sometliing that understands the rule; therefore, if rot from the mn-
ntcian himself, from some other active intelligence; the sam^, perhaps,
which governs bees and spiders, and moves the limbs of those who walk
in their sleep/'

ATTENTION, 59

found, by actual trial,* that it is possible to pronounte about
two thousand letters in a minute. Is it reasonable to suppose,

* " The contractions of the muscles take place and are repeated with
incredible quickness. We^see this in the running of animals, especially
of quadrupeds ; and in the movement of the tongue, which articulates in a
minute about 400 words, comprising perhaps 2,000 letters ; though for the
enunciation of man j of the letters, several contractions of the muscles are
necessary." — Gregory's View of the Theory of Medicine.

In Gibbon's Posthumous Works, I find a statement still more curious,
as it relates to the number of words pronounced in a given time by a
speaker, in the course of an extempore speech. "As I was waiting in the
manager's box at Mr. Hastings' trial in Westminster Hall, I had the curi-
osity to inquire of the shorthand writer, how many words a ready and
rapid orator might pronounce in an hour ? From 7,000 to 7,500 was the
answer. The medium of 7,200 will afford 120 words in each minute."

In this instance, however, here referred to by Gibbon, the business of
articulation forms but a very inconsiderable part of the voluntary exertions
the speaker is incessantly making. One of his efforts, and a very compli-
cated and wonderful one, is taken notice of by Qninctilian in the follow-
ing passage : " But after all, what is extemporary speaking, but a vigor-
ous exertion of memory [and of attention] ? For when we are speaking
of one thing, we are premeditating another that we are about to speak.
This premeditation is carried forward to other objects, and whatever dis-
coveries it makes, it deposits them in the memory ; and thus the invention
having placed it there, the memory becomes a kind of intermediate instru
ment that hands it to the elocution."

A much more comprehensive view, however, of this astonishingly com-
plicated exertion of the mind, is given by Dr. Beid.

** From what cause does it happen, that a good speaker no sooner con-
ceives what he would express, than the letters, syllables, and words ar-
range themselves according to innumerable rules of speech, while he never
thinks of these rules ? He means to express certain sentiments ; in order
to do this properly, a selection must be made of the materials out of many
thousands. He makes this selection without any expense of ti^ne or
thought. The materials selected must be arranged in a particular order,
according to innumerable rules of grammar, rhetoric, and logic, and ao-
companied with a particular tone and emphasis. He does all this as it
were by inspiration, without thinking of any of those rules, and without
breaking one of them.

" This art, if it were not so common, would appear more wonderful,
than that a man should dance blindfold amidst a thousand burning plough*
shares, without being burnt. Yet all this may be done by habit."

It must be owned, that it is difficult to conceive, that, in such a case ai

iO ATTENTIOK.

tkat tlie mmd 10 capable of so manj cBfferent acts 10 an interval
of time s& very inconsiderable ?

With respect to this objection, it maj be observed, in the first
place, that all ailments against the foregoing doctrine with re-
spect to our habitual exertions, in so far as tbej are founded
on the inconceivable rapidity which they suppose in our intel-
lectual operations, apply equally to the eenuuon dectnne coor
cerning our perception of distance by the eye. But this is net
alL To what does the supposi^on amount, which is considered
as so incredible ? Only to this, that the mind is so formed, as
to be able to carry on certain intellectual processes, ia intervals
of time too short to be estimated by our Beiculties ; a auppesition
which, so far from being extravagant, is supported by the anal-
ogy of many of our most certain eoncltisions in natural philoso-
phy. The discoveries made by the microscope, have laid open
to our senses a world of wonders, the existence of which lumUj
any man would have admitted upon inferior evidence ; and hare
gi'adually prepared the way for those physical speculations,
which explain some of the most extraordinary phenomena of
nature, by means of modifications of matter far too subtile for
the examination of our organs. Why then should it be consid-
ered as unphilosophical, after having demonstrated the exist-
ence of various intellectual processes which escape our atten-
tion in consequence of their rapidity, to carry the supposition
a little further, in order to bring under the known laws of the
human constitution a class of mental operations, which most
otherwise remain perfectly inexplicable ? Surely, <mr ideas of
time are merefy relative, 09 weU as our ideas of extension ; nor
i» there any good reason for doubting, that, if our powers of
attention and memory were more perfect than they are, so as

this, there is a separate act of the will accompanying all the mtellectnal
operations here described; and therefore it is not surprising that some
philosophers should have attempted to keep the difficulty out of sight, by
HiQ use of one of these convenient phrases to which it is not possible to an-
nex a clear or a precise idea. This, at least, I must confess, is the case
with me, with respect to the words mechankcUy atOomatical, and ar^aniad,
as emploj ''d on this occasion

ATTENTION. 61

to give us the same advantage in examining rapid events, which
the microscope gives for examining minute portions of exten-
sion, they would enlarge our views with respect to the intelleo-
tual world, no less than that instrument has with respect to the
material.

It may contribute to remove, still more completely, some of
the scruples which are naturally suggested by the foregoing
doctrine, to remark, that, as the great use of attention and mem-
ory is to enable us to treasure up the results of our experience
and reflection for the future regulation of our conduct, it would
have answered no purpose for the Author of our nature to have
extended their province to those intervals of time, which we
have no occasion to estimate in the common business of life.
All the intellectual processes I have mentioned are subservient
to some particular end, either of perception or of action ; and it
would have been perfectly superfluous, if, after this end were
gained, the steps which are instrumental in bringing it about,
were all treasured up in the memory. Such a constitution of
our nature would have had no other effect but to store the mind
with a variety of useless particulars.

After all I have said, it will perhaps be still thought, that
some of the reasonings I have offered are too hypothetical ; and
it is even possible, that some may be disposed rather to dispute
the common theory of vision^ than admit the conclusions I have
endeavored to establish. To such readers, the following consid-
erations may be of use, as they afford a more palpable instance
than I have yet mentioned, of the rapidity with which the
thoughts may be trained, by practice, to shift from one thing to
another.

Instances of the quickness of mental operation. — When an
equilibrist balances a rod upon his finger, not only the attention
of his mind, but the observation of his eye, is constantly requi-
site. It is evident that the part of his body which supports the
object is never wholly at rest ; otherwise the object would no
more stand upon it, than if placed in the same position upon a
table. The equilibrist, therefore, must watch, in the very be-
^^iiming, every inclination of the object from the proper position,

6

62 ATTEJiTIOir.

in order to coanteract this inclination by a contrary movement
In this manner, the object has never time to fall in any one
direction, and is supported in a way somewhat flcnalogoos to that
in which a top is supported on a pivot, by being made to spin
upon an axis. That a person should be able to do this in the
case of a single object, is curious ; but that he should be able to
balance, in the same way, tWo or three, upon different parts of
his body, and at the same time balance himself on a small cord
or wire, is indeed wonderfuL Nor is it possible to conceive
that, in such an instance, the mind, at one and the same mo-
ment, attends to these different equilibriums ; for it is not merely
the attention which is requisite, but the eye. VTe must there-
fore conclude that both of these, [the mind and the eye,] are
directed successively to the different equilibriums, but change
from one object to another with such velocity, that the effect,
with respect to the experiment, is the same as if they were
directed to all the objects constantly.

It is worth while to remark further, with respect to this last
illustration, that it affords direct evidence of the possibility of
our exerting acts of the will, which we are unable to recollect ;
for the movements of the equilibrist do not succeed each other
in a regular order, like those of the harpsichord player in per-
forming a piece of music ; but must, in every instance, be regu-
lated by accidents, which may vary in numberless respects, and
which indeed must vary in numberless respects, every time he
repeats the experiment : and therefore, although, in the former
case, we should suppose, with Hartley, ^ that the motions cling
to one another, and to the impressions of the notes, in the way
of association, without any intervention of the state of tnind
called trtflf," yet in this instance, even the possibility of such a
supposition is directly contradicted by the fact.

The dexterity of jugglers (which, by the way, merits a greater
degree of attention from philosophers, than it has yet attracted,)
affords many curious illustrations of the same doctrine. The
whole of this art seems to me to be founded on this principle ;
that it is possible for a person, by long practice, to acquire a
power, not only of carrying on certain intellectual procesaei

AX 1 jsjmos, $o

mote quickly ihan otber men, (for all the feats of legei^ennam
suppose the exercise of observation, thought, and volition,) but
of performing a variety of movements with the hand, before the
eyes of a company, in an interval of time too short to enable
the spectators to exert that degree of attenti<m which is neces-
sary to lay a foimdation for memory.*

* Mr. Locke, in his Essay on Hnman Understanding, has taken notice
of ih4 qnickness with which the operations of the mind are carried on, and
has referred to the acquired perceptions of sight as a proof of it

" We are further to consider, concerning perception, that the ideas we
Yeceire by sensation are often, in grown people, altered by the judgment,
without onr taking notice of it. When we set before onr eyes a ronn^
globe of any uniform color, for example, gold, alabaster, or jet, it is certain
that the idea thereby imprinted on oar mind is of a flat circle, variousl}
shadowed, with several degrees of light and brightness coming to oxir eyes.
But we, having by use been accustomed to perceive What kind of appear
ance convex bodies are wont to make in us, and what alterations are mad«
in the reflections of light by the difference of the sensible figure of bodies ;
tiie judgment presently, by a habitual custom, alters the appearances into
Iheir causes ; so that, from that which truly is variety of shadow or color,
collecting the figure, it makes it pass for a mark of figure, and frames to
itself a perception of convex figure, and an uniform color ; when the idea
we receive from thence is only a plane variously colored ; as is evident in
painting.'* — Chap. ix. sec. 8.

'' But this is not, I think, usual in any of our ideas but those received
by sight ; because sight, the most comprehensive of all our senses, convey-
ing to our minds the ideas of lights and colors, which are peculiar only to
that sense, and also the far different ideas of space, figure, and motion, the
several varieties whereof change the appearances of its proper object,
namely, light and colors, we bring ourselves by use to judge of the one by
the other. This, in many cases, by a settled habit in things whereof we
have frequent experience, is performed so constantly, and so quick, that
we take that for the perception of our sensation, which is an idea formed
by our judgment ; so that one, namely, that of sensation, serves only to
excite the other, and is scarce taken any notice of itself; as a man who
reads or hears with attention and understanding, takes little notice of the
diaracter or sounds, but of the ideas that are excited in him by them.

'* Nor need we wonder that this is done with so little notice, if we con-
sider how very quick the actions of the mind are performed ; for as itself
is thought to take up no space, to have no extension, so its actions seem
to require no time, but many of them seem to be crowded into an instant
I speak this in comparison with the actions of the body. Any one may

64 ATTSNTIOV.

The mU does not control the vital motions. — As some philos-
ophers have disputed the inflaence of the will in the case of '
habits, so others (particularly Stahl and his followers) have
gone into the opposite extreme, hj referring to the will all the
vital motions [such as the beating of the heart, the peristaltic

easily oUenre this in his own thoughts, who will take the pains to reflect
on them. How, as it were in an instant, do our minds, with one glance,
see all parts of a demonstration, which may very well be called a long one,
if we consider the time it will require to put it into words, and step by
step show it to another 1 Secondly, we shall not be much surprised that
this is done in us with so little notice, if we consider how the facility whidi
we get of doing things by a custom of doing, makes them often pass in us
without our notice. Habits, especially such as are begun yery early, eome
at last to produce actions in us, which often escape our obsenration. How
frequently do we in a day cover our eyes with our eyelids, without per-
ceiving that we are at all in the dark ! Men that by custom have got the
use of a byword, do almost in every sentence pronounce sounds, which,
though taken notice of by others, they themselves neither hear nor ob-
serve; and, therefore, it is not so strange that our mind should often
change the idea of its sensation into that of its judgment, and make one
serve only to excite the other, without our taking notice of it." — Ibid^
sees. 9, 10.

The habit mentioned by Locke, in this paragraph, of occasionally wink
ing with the eyelids, (which is not accompanied with any memory of oar
being, in every such instance, in a momentary state of total darkness,) de-
serves to be added to the cases already mentioned, to show the dependence
of memory upon attention.

[Stewart and Locke are here mistaken in supposing that, when the eye-
lids wink, we are placed "in a momentary state of total darkness.'' It is
a well ascertained fact, that impressions made upon the retina of the eye
continue for about an eighth of a second after the object which produces
them is removed. An obvious illustration of this fact is the familiar ex-
periment of whirling round in*a circle a stick which is tipped with fire ; the
sensation then produced is that of a continuous circle ofjire, because the
impression made by the fiery end at each point in the circle continues until
the stick comes round to that point again. In winking, the eyelids being
closed less than the eighth part of a second, the sensation of the light aad of
objects before us is not at all interrupted ; no darkness is perceived. Just
80, if a humming top, which has an orifice, about three-quarters of an iuch
square, in its periphery, is spun rapidly, the orifice becomes invisible, be-
cause the impression left by the unbroken portion of the periphery 1
becomes continuous.]

ATTENTION. 66

motion of the intestines, etc.] If it be admitted, say these phi*
losophers, that there are instances in which we will an effect,
without being able to make it an object of attention, is it not
possible that, what we commonly call the vital and involuntaiy
motions, may be the consequences of our own thought and voli-
tion? But there is surely a wide difference between those
cases, in which the mind was at first conscious of thought and
volition, and gradually lost the power of attending to them, from
the growing rapidity of the intellectual process ; and a case in
which the effect itself is perfectly unknown to the bulk of man-
kind, even after they arrive at maturity, and in which this effect
has continued to take place with the most perfect regularity,
fix)m the very beginning of their animal existence, and long be-
fore the first dawn of either reflection or experience.

Some of the followers of Stahl have stated the fact rather in-
accurately, even in respect to our habitual exertions. Thus Dr.
Forterfield, in his Treatise on the Eye, is at pains to prove that
the ioul may think and vnll mihovi knowledge or cansciaumess.
But this, I own, is to me inconceivable. The true state of the
fact, I apprehend is, that the mind may think and wiU, wiihovJt
Mending to its thoughts and volitions, so as to he ahU afterwards
to recollect them. Nor is this merely a verbal criticism; for
there is an important difference between consciousness and at-
tention, which it is very necessary to keep in view, in order to
think upon this subject with any degree of precision.* The one
IS an involuntary state of the mind ; the other is a voluntary
act ; the one has no immediate connection with memory ; but
the other is so essentially subservient to it, that, without some
degree of it, the ideas and perceptions which pass through the
mind, seem to leave no trace behind them.t

* The distinction between attention and consciousness is pointed oatb}
Dr. Beid. " Attention is a voluntary act ; it requires an active exertion to
beg^n and to continue it, and it may be continued as long as we will ; bat
tonaeUnuness is involuntary, and of no continuance, changing with every
thought."

t [Here, and elsewhere, Stewart assumes too absolutely, that every act
•r movement is either entirely voluntary or entirely involuntary. But th«

6*

•6 ATTSVTIOV.

Bow Ae attenium ii diiirihaed am<mff iifmdUi^^
•— When two persons are speaking to us at once, we can attenl

control which the will exercises, according to the best pfajslologtsts, is
often partial or imperfect. "There are many invdaniary movements,"
says Muller, an eminent physiologist, ** performed by muscles which are
[generally] subject to the will, — movements in some cases following as
regular a rhythm as do the motions of the heart. Certain muscles also,
which are quite independent of the influcnee of the wm, an aevertheiess
influenced by particular tUUa of the mind."

The cutodate or oontensual movements are those " whicfa^ contrary to our
wSl, accompany other, voluntary, motions. . • . Very few persons indeed
can cause the different muscles of the face to act singly ; they cannot, in
most instances, make the individual muscles act, except in groups with
other muscles." We find a difficulty in calling into action sepamtety die
different fingers of the same hand ; in extending, for instance, the third or
fi)nrth finger without extending at the same time the first and second.
The muscles of the eyes have this tendency to association; it is impossi-
ble, for example, to turn one eye downwards and the other outwards, or
both outwards at the same time. When one eye is turned outwards, the
other is always rotated involuntarily inwards. During violent bodily «i&>
crtion, many muscles act by association, although their action shows ao
apparent purpose ; a man using great muscular exertion moves the mjur
des of his face, as if they were aiding him in raising his load ; during Ub-
bored respiration, and in persons in a state of debility, the musdes of the
fiwie act simultaneously, but involuntarily ; although, except by raising the
''wings of the nostrils," they can in no way assist respiration.

** The less perfect the action of the nervous system," contuiues MfiUefj
** the more frequently do associate motions occur. It is only by edncatiou
that we acquire the power of confining the influence of volition in the pro-
dnction of voluntary motions to a certain number of nervous fibres issuing
from the brain. An awkward person, in performing one voluntary more-
ment, makes many others, which are produced involuntarily by consei^
sual nervous action. In the piano-forte player, we have an example, on
the other hand, of the faculty of insulation of the nervous influence in. its
highest perfection."

Now, if education and habit, as is here stated, can insulate movements
which are by nature consensual, if they can enable us to perform separately
motions which were originally associated, it wonfd seem that education and
habit might also associate acts which were at first independent of each
other, or, in other words, might teach us to perform by a single efllbrt of
tlie will several movements each of which originally required a distinct ▼»
liiion. To adopt Stewart's illustration, the equilibrist or the rope-daiio»
auij naed bat one volition to put in motion several distinct mnides i

|# eitber of d»em at {deasore, withoa^ being much disturbed hj
ihe other. If we attempt to listen to both, we can understand
neither. The fact seems to be, that when we attend constantlj
to one of the speakers, the words spoken bj the other make no
impression on the memory, in consequence of our not attending
to them ; and affect us as little as if they had not been uttered.
This power, however, of the mind to attend to either speaker at
pleasure, supposes that it is, at one and the same time, conscious
of the sensations which both produce.

Another well-known fact may be of use in illustrating the
iame distinction. A person who accidentally loses his sight,
never &ils to improve gradually in the sensibility of his touch.
Now, there are only two ways of explaining this. The one is,
that, in consequence of the loss of the one sense, some change
takes place in the physical constitution of the body, so as to im-
prove a different organ of perception. The other, that the
mind gradually acquirjes a power of attending to and remember-
ing those slighter sensations of which it was formerly conscious,
but which, from our habits of inattention, made no impression
whatever on the memory. No one, surely, can hesitate for a
moment, in pronouncing which of these two suppositions is the
most philosophicaL

Having treated, at considerable length, of those habits in
which both mind and body are concerned, I proceed to make a
few remarks on some phenomena which are purely intellectual ;
and which, I think, are explicable on the same principles with
iJiose which have been now under our review.

The influence of attention on memory iUustrcUed by phenomena
and habits purek/ inteUectudl, — Every person who has studied
the elements of geometry, must have observed many cases in
which the truth of a theorem struck him the moment he heard the
enunciation. I do not allude to those theorems, the truth of

joint action is necessary to enable him to recover his balance. The mus-
calar contractions that were originally isolated come, as it were, to cling
together, and take place nnder a single volition, as when both eyes tnm to
Ae right or left, or all the fingers of the hand open or shnt, by one ini'
l^nlM.)

68 ATTBNTIOir.

which is obvioos almost to sense ; such as, that any two sides
of a triangle are greater than the third side ; or that one circle
cannot cut another circle in more than two points ; but to some
propositions with respect to quantity, considered abstractly, (to
some, for example, in the fifth book of Euclid,) which almost
every student would be ready to admit without a demonstration.
These propositions, however, do by no means belong to the dass
of axioms; for their evidence does not strike every person
equally, but requii 3s a certain degree of quickness to perceive
it. At the same time, it frequently happens, that although we
are convinced the proposition is true, we cannot state inunedi-
ately to others upon wnat our conviction is founded. In such
cases, I think it highly probable, that before we give our assent
to the theorem, a process of thought has passed through the mtndj
but has passed through it so guicUy, that we cannot, without dif-
ficutty, arrest our ideas in their rapid succession, and state them
to others in their proper and logical order. It is some confirma-
tion of this theory, that there are no propositions of which it is
more difficult to give a legitimate proof from first principles,
than of those which are only removed a few steps from the class
of axioms ; and that those men who are the most remarkable
for their quick perception of mathematical truth, are seld<MA
dear and methodical in communicating their knowledge to
others. A man of a moderate <}!egree of quickness, the very
first time he is made acquainted with the fundamental principles
of the method of fiuxions, or of the method of prime and ulti-
mate ratios, is almost instantaneously satisfied of their truth ;
yet how difficult is it to demonstrate these principles rigor-
ously !

What I have now said with respect to mathematics, may be
applied in a great measure to the other branches of knowledge.
How many questions daily occur to us, in morals, in politics, and
in common life ; in considering which we almost instantaneously
see where the truth lies, although we are not in a condition, all
at once, to explain the grounds of our conviction ! Indeed, I
apprehend, there are few, even among those who have devoted
themselves to study, but who have not been habituated to com'

iiTTBIVTIOir. tf

ffundcate ihek knowledge to others, who aie a ;le to exhibit^ in
jtomr natural order, the different steps of any investigation by
which thej have been led to form a particula conclusion. The
.common observation, therefore, that an obscui 6 elocution always
indicates an imperfect knowledge of the subject; although it
may perhaps be true with res|>ect to men frho have cultivated
the art of speaking, is by no means to be : elied on as a general
rule, in judging of the talents of those whose speculations have
been carried on with a view merely to their own private satis-
^tion.

In the course of my own experience, I have heard of mor^
than one instance, of men who, without any mathematical edu-
.cation, were able, on a little reflection, to give a solution of any
simple algebraical problem ; and who, at the same time, were
perfectly incapable of explaining by what steps they obtained
the result* In these cases, we have a direct proof of the pos-
sibility of investigating even truths which are pretty remote, by
An intellectual process which, as soon as it is finished, vanished
almost entirely from the memory. It is probable, that some-
thing of the same kind takes place much more frequently in the
other branches of knowledge, in which our reasonings consist
,c>mm<»ily but of a few steps. Indeed, I am inclined to think,
that it is in this way that by far the greater part of our specula-
tive conclusions are formed.

There is no talent, I apprehend, so essential to a public
speaker, as to be able to state clearly every different step of
those trains of thought by which he himself was led to the con-
clusions he wishes to establish. Much may be here done by
study and experience. Even in those cases in which the truth
of a proposition seems to strike us instantaneously, although we
may not be able, at first, to discover the media of proof, we sel-
dom fail in the discovery by perseverance. Nothing contributes
80 much to form this talent as the study of metaphysics ; not

* [Prodigies of aritk inetical ability, like Buxton " « /<erah Colbam,
have usually been found incapable of explaining the processes by which
tey performed their computations with such marvelloua ^nicknesft]

TO ATTENTIOK.

the absurd metapbysics of the schools, but that stadj which has
the operations of the mind for its object By habituating us to
reflect on the subjects of our consciousness, it enables us to re-
tard, in a considerable degree, the current of thought ; to arrest
many of those ideas, which would otherwise escape our notice ;
and to render the arguments which we employ for the convic-
tion of others, an exact transcript of those trains of inquiiy and
reasoning, which originally led us to form our opinions.

These observations lead me to take notice of an important
distinction between the intellectual habits of men of peculation
and of action. The latter, who are under a necessity of
thinking and deciding on the spur of the occasion, are led to
cultivate, as much as possible, a quickness in their mental operap
tions ; and sometimes acquire it in so great a degree, that their
Judgment seems to be almost intuitive. To those, on the other
hand, who have not merely to form opinions for themselves, but
to communicate them to others, it is necessary to retard the
train of thought as it passes in the mind, so as to be able after-
wards to recollect every different step of the process ; a habit
which, in some cases, has such an influence on the inteUectual
powers, that there are men who, even in their private specula-
tions, not only make use of words as an instrument of thought,
but form these words into regular sentences.

Contributimis of philology to philosophy. — It may perhaps
appear, at first, a paradoxical observation, that one great em-
ployment of philosophers, in a refined age, is to bring to light
and arrange those rapid and confused trains of thought, which
appear, from the structure of languages and from the monu-
ments of ancient laws and governments, to have passed through
the minds of men in the most remote and unenlightened periods.
In proof, however, of this, it is sufficient to mention the sys-
tematical analogy which we find, to a certain degree, running
through the structure of the most imperfect tongues, (for exam-
ple, in the formation of the different parts of the verbs,) and
those general principles which the philosophical lawyer traces
amidst an apparent chaos of precedents and statutes. In the
language, too, of the rudest tribe, we find words transferred from

ATTBKTIOK. 7l

<Nie subject to another, which indicate, in the mind of the indi*
fidual who first made the transference, some perception of re^
semblance or of analogy. Such transferences can hai-uly be
ascribed to accident, but may be considered as proofs that the
analogies, which the philosopher afterwards points out between
the objects which are distinguished by the same name, had been
perceived by the inventors of language, although it is more than
probable that they never expressed them in words, nor could
even have explained them if they had been questioned on the
subject.

Nor will this appear a bold or incredible supposition, if we
reflect on the sagacity and ingenuity which savages, and even
peasants, discover, in overcoming the difficulties which occur in
their situation. Thej do not, indeed, engage in long processes
of abstract reasoning, for which they have no inclination, and
which it is impossible to carry on without the use of a cultivated
and a copious language ; but when pressed by present circum-
stances, they combine means to accomplish particular ends, in a
manner which indicates the exercise both of invention and of
reasoning. It is probable that such processes are carried on in
their minds, with much less assistance from language, than a
philosopher would derive on a similar occasion ; and it is almost
certain, that they would find themselves perfectly incapable of
communicating to others the steps by which they were led to
their conclusions. In consequence of these circumstances, the
attainments of the human mind, in its ruder state, perish with
the individual, without being recorded in writing, or perhaps
expressed in words ; and we are left to infer them indirectly
from the structure of language, or from the monuments of an-
cient customs and institutions.

What train9 of thought are most difficvU to *be remembered. —
When a train of thought leads to any interesting conclusion, or
excites any pleasant feeling, it becomes peculiarly difficult to ar-
rest our fieeting ideas ; because the mind, when once it has felt
the pleasure, has little inclination to retrace the steps by which
It arrived at it. This is one great cause of the difficulty attending
philosophical criticism. When a critip explains to us why we

19 ▲tthitioii.

aie pleaaed wiHi tnj particnkr beauty, or offended with mtj
defect, it is evident, that if his theory be jasty the circnmatanccs
which he points out as the foundation of our pleasure or uneai-
ness, must have occurred to our minds before we were pleased
with the beau^, or offended with the defect In such cases, it
iometimes happens, when a critic has been Ibrtunate in his the-
ory, that we recognize at first sight our old ideas, and without
any further consideration, are ready to bear testimony to the
truth, from our own consciousness. So very difficult, however,
is it to attend to the ideas which excite such feelings, that it
lolien appears to be doubtful, whether a tiieory be right or
wrong; and that where there is every reason to believe i^taX
the pleasure is produced in all men in the same way, different
.critics adopt different theories with respect to its cause. It is
long practice alone, joined to what is commonly called a meta-
physical turn of mind, (by which, I think, is chiefly to be under-
atood a capacily of reflecting on the subjects of our consdoua-
ness,) that can render such efforts of attention easy. Exquisite
sensibility, so far from being useful in this species of critidsm,
both gives a disrelish for the study, and disqualifies for purso-
.ingit.

InabtiUy to attend to mare ^um one Mng at once.-^ Before
we leave the subject of attention, it is proper to take notioe of a
question which has been stated with respect to it ; whether we
have the power of attending to more than one thing at one and
ithe same instant ; or, in other words, whether we can attend e^
one and the same instant to objects which we can attend to sep-
arately ? This question has, if I am not mistaken, been already
decided by several philosophers in the negative; and I ac-
knowledge for my own part, that although their opinion has not
only been called in question by others, but even treated with
some degree of contempt as altogether hypothetical, it appears
to me to be the most reasonable and philosophical that we can
form on the subject

There is, indeed, a great variety of cases, in which the mind
apparently exerts different acts of attention at once ; but from
the instances which have alrciady been mentioned,. of the aatoo-

kfaingTapidbj of ^ought^ it is oiMdons, itat all iJiis mi^ be ex-
plained witbout supposing these acts to be coesdstent ; and I
maj even yenture to add, it may all be explained in the moot
flatisfiustorj manner, without asoribing to oxa intellectual opera-
iaxma a greater degree of rapidity than that with which we know,
£com the h/ci, that Ihej are sometimes carried on. The effect
of practice, in increasing this capacitj of apparently attending to
different things at once, renders this explanation of the phenouk-
enon in question more probable than any other.

The case of the equilibrist and rope-dancer, already mentioned,
d» pavficularly favorable to this explanation ; as it affords direct
eTidenoeof the possibility of the mind's exerting different bw^
cesdve acts in an interval of lime so short, as to produce the
same sensible effect as if they had been exerted at one and the
Qame moment In this case, indeed, the rapidity of thought is
so remarkable, that if the different acts of the mind were not afl
necessarily accompanied with different movements of the eye,
^here can be no reason for doubting that the philosophers, whose
doctrine I am now controverting, would haye asserted, that they
are all mathematically coexistent

Upon a question, however, of this sort, which does not admit
of a perfectly direct appeal to the fact, I would by no means be
understood to decide {with confidence ; and therefore I should
wish the conclusions I am now to state, to be received as only
conditionally established. They are necessary and obvious con-
sequences of the general principle, '< that the 9iind can only at-
tend to one thing at once ; " but must stand or &11 with the
troth of that supposition.

lUustrctHans of ^U doctrine, —-It is commonly understood, I
believe, that, in a concert ofm%mCy a good ear can attend to the
different parts of the music separately, or can attend to them all
at once, and feel the full effect <^ the harmony. K the doctrine,
however, which I have endeavored to establish, be admitted, it
will follow, that in the latter case, the mind is constantly vary-
ing its attention from the one part of the music to the other, and
ihat its operations are so .rapid as to give us no perception of
an interval of time.

7

74 ATTENTIOir.

The Bame doctrine leads to some cor.. ^ eondosions ivith r»
' spectto viiion* Suppose the eye to be fixed in a particulai
position, and the picture of an object to be painted on the retina.
Does the mind perceive the complete figure of the object at
once, or is this perception the result of the various perceptioxif
we have of the different points in the outline ? With respect
to this question, the principles already stated lead me to c(hi-
dude, that the mind does, at one and the same time, perceive
every point in the outline of the object, (provided the whole of
it be painted on the retina at the same instant ;) for perception,
like consciousness, is an involuntary operation. As no two
points, however, of the outline are in the same direction, every
point) by itself, constitutes just as distinct an object of Attention
to the mind, as if it were separated by an interval of ^npty
space from all the rest If the doctrine, therefore, formerly
stated be just, it is impossible for the mind to attend to more
than one of these points at once ; and as the perception of the
figure of the object implies a knowledge of the relative situa-
tion of the different points with respect to each other, we must
conclude that the perception of figure by the eye is the result
of a number of different acts of attention. These acts of atten-
tion, however, are performed with such rapidity, that the effecli)
with respect to us, is the same as if the perception were instan-
taneous.

In further confirmation of this reasoning, it may be remarked,
that if the perception of visible figure were an immediate con-
sequence of the picture on the retina, we should have, at the
first glance, as distinct an idea of a figure of a thousand sides,
as of a triangle or a square. The truth is, that when the figure
is very simple, the process of the mind is so rapid, that the per-
ception seems to be instantaneous ; but when the sides are mul-
tiplied -beyond a certain number, the interval of time necessary
for these different acts of attention becomes perceptible.

It may perhaps be asked, what I mean by a point in the oat-
line of a figure, and what it is that constitutes this point one ob-
ject of attention ? The answer, I apprehc^nd, is, that this point

ATTENTION. 70

is the minimum vmhile. If the point be less, we cannot per-
ceive it ; if it be greater, it is not all seen in one direction.

If these observations be admitted, it will follow, that, without
the faculty of memory, we could have had no perception of vis-
ible figure.*

♦ I hare been accused of overlooking, in the preceding Chapter, a very
important distinction between Voluntary and Involuntary attention. In
some cases, (it is said,) attention attaches itself spontaneous! j to its object.
In others, it requires a painful effort to keep it steady, — nay, when we wUl
to fix it on one subject, we find it perpetually wandering to another. The
Jact on which the criticism is founded must unquestionably be admitted,
but the conclusion drawn from it is nevertheless erroneous. It proceeds
on a vague use of the words vohtniaiy and invohmtaiy. These words, as
well as the substantive tmU, are often, but very inaccurately, employed to
express a general purpose or intentiim, as well as that state of mind which is
the immediate antecedent of action. Thus, if I resolve to keep my eyea
steadily open, I may, according to common modes of speech, be said to
will to keep them open, and if in consequence of some sudden alarm, I
should depart from my purpose, the winking of my eyelids may be said to
be invduntanf. And yet, in strict philosophical propriety, the winking of
my eyelids is an act purely voluntary ; an operation which I will to per-
form, in consequence of the effect which my alarm has to banish my gen-
eral purpose or resolution from my mind. The case is perfectly parallel
with respect to attention. When I am anxious to attend to a particular
subject, I am apt to say that I wiU to attend to it, and when I forget my
purpose, that my inattention is iwochuOary; whereas the fact is, that the
unintended distraction, like the unintended winking of the eyeUds, was thd
effect of a particular volition of the mind, exerted in consequence of a mo-
mentary forgetfulness of my general purpose. Indeed, to those who are at
all accustomed to precision in the use of language, the phrase invduntary
attention must appear a manifest contradiction in terms.

[Stewart is mistaken in supposing that the winking of the eyelids is
cdwaySf or even generally, a voluntary act. Physiologists are now agreed
that, most frequently, it is as involuntary as sneezing, or coughing from
irritation of the larynx. Recent discoveries have established the existence
of what is called the reflex action of the nerves, by which, without any sen-
sation being communicated to the brain, and consequently without any ef-
fort of the will, an impression made upon the end of a nerve is transmitted
to the spinal cord, and thence sent back again, as it were, along one of the
motor nerves to its extremity, producing there a contraction of the nerrei
and the requisite movement of the limb or organ. Isolate this pair of
I entirely, by cutting off its communication, not only with the head,

7:6 QonawTMir.

CHAPTER III.

OF OONCSPTION.

Office of ChnetpUon. — Bj conceptiony I mean th|it powef
of the mind, which enables it to form a notion of an absent ob<
ject of perception ; or of a sensation which it has formerlj fdt
I do not contend that this is ezdusivelj the proper meaning of
the word, but I think that the faculty which I have now defined,
.deseryes to be distinguished bj an appropriated name.

Cimoeption is often confounded with other powers. When a
painter makes a picture of a friend, who is absent or dead,
he is commonly said to paint from memory ; and the expres*
(Sion is sufficiently correct for common conversation. But in an
.analysis of the mind, there is ground for a distinction. The
power of conception enables him to make the features of his
friend an object of thought, so as to copy the resemblance ; the
power of memory recognizes these features as a former olject
of perception. Every act of memory includes an idea of the
past ; conception implies no idea of time whatever.*

According to this view.of the matter, the word amceptUm eaS'
responds to what was called by the schoolmen tinyide apprehef^
sian ; with this difference only, that they included, under this
name, our apprehension of general propositions; whereas I

but with the upper and lower portions of the spinal column, reserving only
a segment of this column to connect the excitor with the motor nerve, and
the reflex movement may still be produced. Thus, when the mucous
membrane of the nose is irritated, sneezmg follows in spite of any effort
of the will to prevent it. Winking takes place involuntarily, whenever an
object comes suddenly near or before the eyes, or when water needs to bo
earned off through the tear passage.]

* Shakspeare calls this power ** Uie mind's eye."

Hamlet. — ** Mj father ! Methinks I see my father.

Horatio. — " Where, my Lord ?

Hamlet. — " In my mind's eye, Horatio:*' — Act i Scene 4.

OOKOBFTIOir. 77

BhoQld wish to limit tbe application of the word eaneepti&n to
our sensations, and the objects of our perceptions. Dr. Reid,
in his Inquiry, substitutes the word coneepH^sn instead of the
simple apprehension of the schools, and employs it in the same
extensive signification. I think it may contribute to make our
ideas more distinct, to restrict its meaning : — and for such a
restriction, we have the authority of philosophers in a case per-
fectly analogous. In ordinary language, we apply the same
wordy perception, to the knowledge which we have by our senses
of external objects, and to our knowledge of speculative truth:
and yet an author would be justly censured, who should treat
of these two pperations of the mind under the same article of
perception. I apprehend there is as wide a difference between
the conception of a truth, and the conception of an absent object
of sense, as between the perception of a tree, and the perception
of a mathematical theorem. I have therefore taken the liberty
to distinguish also the two former operations of the mind ; and
under the article of conception, shall confine myself to that &o-
ulty whose province it is to enable us to form a notion of our
past sensations, or of the objects of sense that we have formerly
perceived.*

* [Stewart, who is a strict Nominalist, maintains that we can form a
eoncqOion only of an indlTidnal object that can be perceived hy the senses,
— as of a particular house or tree. Beid and all other metaphysicians, ex-
cept the Nominalists, maintain that we may have conceptions also of what
abstract and general terms stand for ; that is, they say we can apprehend
the meaning of such words as wisdom, virtue, courage, etc., and also of triart'
gU, man, tiger, — understanding thereby, not any particular triangle, or
man, but the general idea answering to any or all triangles, any or all men,
etc. If we did not apprehend their meaning, we could not argue about
them, or use their names intelligibly. But the doctrine of the Nominalists
is, that when we use these abstract, general terms, the mere words are our
only objects of thought, and that we limit and fix the meaning of those
words by calling up, when necessary, the image or conception of a partic-
ular thing comprehended under them. If I speak of a triangle in general^
Mid wish to have something more definite before the mind than the mera
word *' triangle," they say that I call up the image of some particular tri-
angle, and limit my attention, in considering it, to those qualities which it
possesses in common with all triangles. According to the Nominalisti^

7*

78 . oomcmwTWi9*

Qmetpiim ii9iingtiUh$d frmt^ J5iMytfi«feii.«^ Ooaaiptfon u
frequently med as vywoftxpnoiQA with imaginatioB* Dr. Reid
gays, that ^ imagination, in its proper sense, signifies a lively
eonception of ohjeeU of dgkt/* ^ This is a talent,'' he remarks,
^ oi importanee to poets and orators ; and deserves a proper
name^ on acoognt of its connection with their arts." He adds,
that ^inaginatioB is distinguished from coneeptiaii as a part
from the whole."

I shall not inquire at present into the proper £n§^yuBh mean-
faig of the words eoneepiym and imaginaHon. In a study such
as this, so fiir removed fr<Hn eommmi purposes of speech, some
latitude may perhaps be aiiowed in the use of words ; provided
only we define accurately those we employ, and adhere to our
Dwn definitioiig.

The business of ooncq»tion, acooiding to the account I have
given of it, is to present us with mn exact trantcripi of what toe
hoot fdt or perceived. But we have, moreover, a power of
modifying our conceptions, by combining the parts of difierent
ones together, so as to fonn new wholes of our own creatioD.
I f^all employ the word imaginaHon to express this power;
and, I apprehend, that this is the proper sense of the word, if
imagination be the power which gives birth to the {Hroductiims
of the poet and the painter. This is not a simple faculty of the
mind. It presupposes abetraelumj to separate from each other
qualities and circumstances which have been perceived in con-
junction ; and also judgment and taeU^ to direct us in forming
the combinations. If they are made wholly at random^ they
are proo& of insanity.*

Ihen, the only olgeots of thought are (1.) mere words, and (3.) the concep-
tions of particalar, material objects, such as can be imaged or jnctured firth
in the fiincy. Beid and the Conceptnallsts maintain, that there are also
(3.) conceptions of abstract and general things, — conceptions which are
more definite than mere words, bat less definite than images or pictores
of particnlor objects.

Bat these differences of opinion between the Nominalists, Realists, and
ConceptaaHsts, will be explained more fully hereaflber.]

* In common discoorae, we often use the phrase of thmking txpcn on o6;>c^
to eaKiKTMs what J hers osU the.oomx;p(»on of it In the^Uowiqg ^etamtB^

COVCBFTIOlf* 79

Smne ^eeU (re e&Mtwtd more easify than others. '—The first
remarkable fad whidi etrikes us with respect to conception is,
that we can conceive the objects of some senses ■ much more
eaallj than those of others. Thus we can conceive an absent
visiUe object) such as a building that is ^miliar to us, much
more easily tbaaoi a particular smmdy a particular tcute^ or a par^
ticular pcnb, which we have formerly felt. It is probable, how*
ever, that UUe power ndght he improved in the ease of some of our
senses. Few people, I believe, are able to form a verj distinct
conception <^ sounds ; and yet it is certain, that by practice, a
person may acquire a power of amusing himself with reading
writt^i music. And in the case of poetical numbers, it is uni-^
Fersalty known, Uuit a reader may enjoy the harmony of tha
verse, without articulating ther words, even in a whisper. In
sndi cases, I take for granted, that our pleasure arises &om a
uery strong eometpHon of the sounds which we have been accuse
tomed to associate with particular written dbaracters.

Why visible ohfects are &tsikf conceived, The peculiarity m
the case of vimbifi objects, se^ns to arise from this ; that when
we think of a sound or of a taste, the object of our ooacej^on
is one sin^ detached sensaiion ; whereas every visible object i$
complex ; and the conc^tion wMch we iotm of it as a whde
is aided by the Association of Ideas. To perceive the force of
this observation, k is necessary to recollect what was former^
said on the subject of attention. As we cannot at one install
attend to every point of the picture of an object on the retina,

Shakspeare uses the former of Ihese phrases, and the words imaginatim
and opjprdieMion as eynonymoas with eadi other.

— ^ Who can hold a fire in his hand.
By thinking on the frosty Caacasns f
Or doy the hungry edge of appetite.
By bare imagina^oa of a feast %
Or wallow naked in December's 'snow,
By thinking en fimtastic summer's heat f
Oh no ! the apprehension of the good
Gives but the greater feeling to the worse.

K. BiOHABD XL Act I SoeneC

80 ooircEPTioir.

tOy I apprehend, we cannot at one instant fenn a conoeptiOD of
the whole of any visible object; but that our conception of
the object as a whole, is the result of manj conceptions. The
association of ideas connects the different parts together, and
presents them to the mind in their proper arrangement ; and
the various relations which these parts bear to one another in
point of situation, contribute greatlj to strengthen the associa*
ttons« It is some confirmation of this theory, that it is more
easy to remember a succession of sounds, than Ofny pcarticular
sound which we have heard detached and unconnected.

The power of conceiving visible objects, like all other powers
that depend on the association of ideas, maj be wonderfully
improved by hahit A person accustomed to drawing retains
a much more perfect notion of a building or of a landscape
which he has seen, than one who has never practised that art
A portrait painter traces the form of the human body from
memory, with as little exertion of attention, as he employs in
writing the letters which compose his name.

In the power of conceiving colors, too, there are striking di^
ferences among individuals : and, indeed, I am inclined to sus-
pect, that, in the greater number of instances, the supposed
defects of sight in this respect ought to be ascribed rather to a
defect in the power of conception. One thing is certain, that
we often see men who are perfectly sensible of the difference
between two colors when they are presented to them, who can-
not give names to these colors, with confidence, when they see
them apart ; and are perhaps apt to confound the one with the
other. Such men, it should seem, feel the sensation of color
like other men, when the object is present, but are incapable
(probably in consequence of some early habit of inattention) to
sonceive the sensation distinctly when the object is removed.
Without this power of conception, it is evidently impossible for
them, however lively their sensations may be, to give a name
to any color ; for the application of the name supposes not only
a capacity of receiving the sensation, but a power of comparing
it with one formerly felt. At the same time, I would not be
nnd^^rstood by these observations to deny, that there are case^

COKCBPTIOK. 81

in which there is a natural defect of the organ in the perception
of color. In some cases, perhaps, the sensation is not felt at all ;
and in others, the faintness of the sensation may be one cause
of those habits of inattention, from which the incapacity of con
ception has arisen.

What uses the power of conception is subsertnent to. — A
talent for lively description, at least in the case of sensible ob-
jects, depends chiefly on the degree in which the describer
possesses the power of conception. We may remark, even in
conunon conversation, a striking difference among individuals
in this respect. One man, in attempting to convey a notion of
any object he has seen, seems to place it before Mm, and to
paint from actual perception : another, although not deficient in
a ready elocution, finds himself, in such a situation, confused and
embarrassed among a number of particulars imperfectly appre-
hended, which crowd into his mind without any just order and
connection. Nor is it merely to the accuracy of our descrip-
tions that this power is subservient : it contributes more than
any thing else to render them striking and expressive to others,
by guiding us to a selection of such circumstances as are most
prominent and characteristical ; insomuch that I think it may
reasonably be doubted, if a person would not write a happier
description of an object from the conception than from the actual
perception of it. It has been often remarked, that the perfection
of description does not consist in a minute specification of circum-
stances, but in a judicious selection of them ; and that the best
rule for making the selection is to attend to the particulars that
make the deepest impression on our own minds. When the ob-
ject is actually before us, it is extremely difficult to compare the
impressions which different circumstances produce ; and the very
thought of writing a description, would prevent the impressions
which would otherwise take place. When we afterwards con-
ceive the object, the representation of it we form to ourselves,
however lively, is merely an outline ; and is made up of those
circumstances, which really struck us most at the moment;
while others of less importance are obliterated. The impression,
indeed, which a circumstance makes on the nund, will vary

80 ooHCKPnoir.

eofoAdeeMj wiih the degree of a perscm's laste; bat I an
inclined to think, that a man of lirelj conceptions, who paints
from these, while his mind is jet warm from the original scene,
can hardlj fiul to succeed in descriptive composition. V

Observations applicaUe both to conception and imagination.^^
The facts and obserrations which I hare now mentioned, are
applicable to conception as distinguished from imaginaticm*
The two powers, howerer, are very nearlj allied ; and are fre*
quentlj so blended, that it is difficult to saj, to which of the
two some particular operations of the mind are to be referred.
There are also many general &cts which hold equally with
respect to both. The observations which follow, if they aro
well founded, are of this number, and might have been iiitn>'
duced with equal propriety under either article. I mentioii
them here, as I shall have occasion to refer to them in the
course of the following work, in treating of some subjeetSy
which will naturally occur to our examination, before -we have
another opportunity of considering this part of our constitution*

On the belief which attends the conc^tion or imaginaHan* — *
It is a common, I believe I may say a universal, doctrine
among Ic^cians, that conception (or imagination, which is often
used as synonymous with it) is attended with no belief of the
existence of its object. ^Perception,** says Dr. Beid, ^is
attended with a belief of the present existence of its object ;
memory, with a belief of its past existence ; but imaginati<m is
attended with no belief at all ; and was therefore called by the
schoolmen, apprehentio eimplexJ*

It is with great diffidence, that I presume to call in question
a principle, which has been so generally received ; yet there
are several circumstances which lead me to doubt of it If it
were a specifical distinction between perception and imagina-
tion, tiiat the former is always attended with belief, and the lafe*
ter with none ; then the more lively our imagination were <^
any object, and the more completely that object occupied the
attention, the less would we be apt to bcilieve its existence ; for
it is reasonable to think, that when any of our powers is
•mployed separately from the rest^ and there is nothing U»

COKCBPtlOK. 88

withdraw the attention froni it, the laws whicli regakte its ope-
ration win be most obvious to our observation, and will be
most completely discriminated from those which are character-
istical of the other powers of the mind. So veiy different,
however, is the &ct, that it is matter of common remark, that
when imagination is verj lively, we are apt to ascribe to its
objects a real existence, as in the case of dreaming or of mad-
ness ; and we may add, in the case of those who, in spite of
their own general belief of the absurdity of the vulgar stories
of apparitions, dare not trust themselves alone with their own
imaginations in the dark. That imagination is in these in-
stances attended with belief, we have all the evidence that the
nature of the thing admits of; for we feel and act in the same
manner as we should do, if we believed that the objects of our
attention were real ; which is the only proof that metaphysi-
cians produce, or can produce, of the belief which accompanies
perception.

In these cases, the fact that 1 wish to establish is so striking
that it has never been called in question ; but in most cases, the
impression which the objects of imagination make on the mind
is so momentary, and is so immediately corrected by the sur^
rounding objects of perception, that it has not time to influence
our conduct Hence we are apt to conclude, on a superficial
view, that imagination is attended with no belief; and the con-
clusion is surely just in most cases, if by belief we mean Aper-
fnaneni conviction which influences our conduct But if the
word be used in the strict logical sense, I am inclined to think,
after the most careful attention to what I experience in myself,
that the exercise both of conception and imagination is always
accompanied with a belief that their objects exist*

* One of the argaments which I hare stated, in opposition to the com-
mon doctrine concerning imagination, appears to me to be authorized, in
some measure, hj the following reasoning of Dr. Reid's on a different sub-
ject. In considering those sudden bursts of passion, which lead us to
wreak our vengeance upon inanimate objects, he endeavors to show, that
"we bare, in such cases, a momentary belief that the object is alive. " I
conlbss/' says he, "it seems to be impossible, that there should be resent

84 coHOEPTioir.

When a painter conceives the &ce and figure of an absent
friend, in order to draw his picture, he believes for the moment
that his friend is before him. The belief, indeed, is onlj mo-
mentary ; for it is extremely difficult, in our waking hours, to
keep up a steady and undivided attention to any object we con-
ceive or imagine ; and as soon as the conception or the imagi-
nation is over, the belief which attended it is at an end. We
find that we can recall and dismiss the objects of these powers at
pleasure ; and therefore we learn to consider them as creations
of the mind, which have no separate and independent existence.

The compatibility of such a speculative disbeliefs as I have
here supposed, of the existence of an object, with a contrary mo-
mentary belief may perhaps be more readily admitted, if the
following experiment be considered with attention.

ment against a thing, which, at that very moment, is considered as inani-
mate ; and consequently incapable either of intending hurt, or of being
punished. There must, therefore, I conceive, be some momentary notion
or conception, that the object of our resentment is capable of punishment."

In another passage, the same author remarks, that " men may be gov-
erned, in their practice, by a belief, which, in speculation, they reject.''

** I knew a man," says he, ** who was as much convinced as any man,
of the folly of the popular belief of apparitions in the dark : yet he could
not sleep in a room alone, nor go alone into a room in the dark. Can it
be said, that his fear did not imply a belief of danger 1 This is impossi-
ble. Tet his philosophy convinced him, that he was in no more danger
in the daris when alone, than with company. Here an unreasonable belief,
which was merely a prejudice of the nursery, stuck so fast as to govern his
conduct, in opposition to his speculative belief as a philosopher and a man
of sense.

** There are few }>er8ons who can look down from the battlement of a
very high tower witbout fear; while their reason convinces them, that they
are in no more danger than when standing upon the ground."

These fiicts are easily explicable, on the supposition, that whenever the
objects of imagination engross the attention wholly, (which they may do,
in opposition to any speculative opinion with respect to their non-exist-
ence,) they produce a temporary belief of their reality. Indeed, in the
last passage. Dr. Reid seems to admit this to be the case ; for, to say that
a man who has a dread of apparitions, believes himself to be in danger
when left alone in the dark, is to say, in other words, that he believes (for
the time) that the objects of his imagination are real.

NOMINALISM AND BEALISM. « 107

1 shall, in l^e following remarks, proceed on the suppositiony
that the syllogistic theory is well founded ; a supposition which,
although not strictly agreeable to truth, is yet sufficiently accu*
rate for the use which I am now* to make of it Take, then, any
step of one of Eudid's demonstrations ; for example, the first
step of his first proposition, and state it in the form of a syllo-
• gism. ^' All straight lines, drawn from the centre of a circle to
the circumference, are equal to one another." ^^ But A B, and
C D, are straight lines drawn from the centre of a circle to the
circumference. Therefore, A B is equal to C D." It is per-
fectly manifest, that, in order to feel the force of this conclusion,
it is by no means necessary, that I should annex any particular
notions to the letters A B, or G D, or that I should comprehend
what is meant by eqticdityy or by a circle, its cerUre, and its ctV-
cumference. Every person must be satisfied, that the truth of
the conclusion is necessarily implied in that of the two premises,
whatever the particular things may be to which these premises
may relate. In the following syllogism, too : ^< All men must
die ; Peter is a man ; therefore Peter must die ; " the evi-
dence of the conclusion does not in the least depend on the par-
ticular notions I annex to the words man and Peter; but would
be equally complete, if we were to substitute, instead of them,
two letters of the alphabet, or any other insignificant characters.
"All X's must die ; Z is an X; therefore Z must die ;" — is
a syllogism which forces the assent no less than the former.
It is further obvious, that this syllogism would be equally con-
clusive, if, instead of the word die, I were to substitute any
other verb that the language contains ; and, that, in order to
perceive the justness of the inference, it is not even necessary
that I should understand its meaning.

In general, it might be easily shown, that all the rules of
logic with respect to syllogisms, might be demonstrated, without
having recourse to any thing but letters of the alphabet ; in the
same manner, (and I may add, on the very same principles,) on
which the aigebrabt demonstrates, by means of these letters,
the various rules for transposing the terms of an equation.
From what has been said, it follows, that the assent we give

lOB . MoimrixisM ahd bsalisk.

to the oonelarion of a s jllogism does not result from any exam^
ination of the notions expressed by the different propositions of
which it is composed, but is an immediate consequence of the
relations in which the words stand to each other. The truth is,
that in ererj syllogism, the inference is only a particular in-
stance of the general axiom, that whatever is true uniyersally
of any sign, must also be true of every individual which that-
sign can be employed to express. Admitting, therefore, thai
every process of reasoning may be resolved into a series of syl-
logisms, it follows, that this operation of the mind furnishes no
proof of the existence of any thing corresponding to g^ieral
terms, distinct firom the individuals to which these terms are
applicable.

These remarks, I am very sensible, do, by no means, exhaust
the subject ; for there are various modes of reasoning, to which
the syllogistic theory does not apply. But, in all of them, with-
out exception, it will be found on examination, that the evidence
of our conclusions appears immediately fix>m the consideration
of the words in which the premises are expressed ; without any
reference to the things which they denote. The imperfect ac-
count which is given of deductive evidence, in the received syfr-
tems of logic, makes it impossible for me, in this place, to pros-
ecute the subject any ^rther.

After all I have said on the use of language as an instrument
of reasoning, I can easily foresee a variety of objections, which
may occur to the doctrine I have been endeavoring to establish.
But without entering into a particular examination of these ob-
jections, I believe I may venture to affirm, that most, if not all,
of them take their rise from confounding reaso^ing, or deduc-
tion, properly so called, with certain other intellectual processes,
which it is necessary for us to employ in the investigation of
truth. That it m/requendy ofesientiai importance to us, in our
speculations, to withdraw our aUmtion from words^ and to direct
it to the things they denote, I am very ready to acknowledge.
All that I assert is, that, in so far as our speculations consist of
that pix>cess of the mind which is properly called reoioning^ they
may he carried on by words alone ; or, which comes to the same

coNcisPTioir. 87

madness seems in manj cases to arise entirely from a suspension
of the influence of the will over the succession of our thoughts ;
in consequence of which, the objects of imagination appear to
have an existence independent of our volition ; and are there^
fore, agreeably to the foregoing doctrine, mistaken for realities.

Numberless other illustrations of the same general fact occui
to me ; but the following is, I think, one of the most striking. I
mention it in preference to the rest^ as it appears to me to con-
nect the doctrine in question with some principles which are
now universally admitted among philosophers.

(}fflce of conception in vision, — The distinction between the
original and the acquired perceptions of tight, is familiarly
known to every one who has the slightest acquaintance with the
elements of optics. That this sense, prior to experience, con-
veys to us the notion of extension in two dimensions only, and
that it gives us no information concerning the distances at which
objects are placed from the eye, are propositions which nobody,
I presume, in the present state of science, will be disposed to
controvert. In what manner we are enabled, by a comparison
between the perceptions of sight and those of touch, to extend
the province of the former sense to a variety of qualities origi-
nally perceived by the latter sense only, optical writers have
explained at great length ; but it is not necessary for my pres-
ent purpose to enter into any particular details with respect to
their reasonings on the subject. It is sufficient for me to re-
mark, that, according to the received doctrine, the original per-
ceptions of sight become, in consequence of experience, signs of
the tangible qualities of external objects, and of the distances at
which they are placed from the organ ; and that, although the
knowledge we obtain, in this manner, of these qualities and dis-
tances, seems, from early and constant habits, to be an instanta-
neous perception ; yet, in many cases, it implies an exercise of
the judgment, being founded on a comparison of a variety of
different circumstances.*

* [See note to page 50, respecting the perception of distance bj the eje.
^Va sphere of one uniform color be set before me/' says Dr. Beid, "h

M CONCKFTIOir.

From these principles, it is an obvious conseqnence, that tiis
knowledge we obtain, by the eye, of the tangible qualities of
bodies, involves the exercise of concepHony according to the
definition of that power which has already been given. In
ordinary discoarse, indeed, we ascribe this knowkdge, on
account of the instantaneousness with which it is obtained, to
the power of perception ; but if the common doctrine on the
subject be just, it is the result of a complex operation of the
mind; comprehending, firsts the perception of those qualities,
which are the proper and original objects of sight; and,
iecandfy, the eoncepHon of those tangible qualities of which
the original perceptions of sight are found from experience to
be the signs. The notions, therefore, we form, by means of the
eye, of the tangible qualities of bodies, and of the distances <^
these objects from the organ, are mere conceptions ; strongly,
and uideed indissolubly, associated, by early and constant habit,
with the original perception of sight

When we open our eyes on a magnificent prospect, the
various distances at which all its different parts are placed
from the eye, and the immense extent of the whole scene
before us, seem to be perceived as immediately, and as instan-
taneously, by the mind, as the colored surface which is painted
on the retina. The truth, however, unquestionably is, that this
variety of distance, and this immensity of extent, are not chfect»
of sense^ but of conception ; and the notions we form of them
when our eyes are open, differ from those we should form of

is certain that, by the original power of sight, I oovld not perceive it to be
a sphere and to hare three dimensions [length, breadth, and thicknessl.
The eye originally conld perceive only two dimensions, [length and
breadth,] and a gradual variation of color on the different sides of the ob-
ject It is experience that teaches me that die variation of color is an effect
of spherical convexity, and of the distribution of light and shade. A
sphere may be painted upon a plane so exactly as to be taken for a teal
sphere, when the eye is at a proper distance and in the proper point of
view. The variation of color exhibited to the eye by the painter's art is
the same which nature exhibits by the different degrees of light f&ilin^ «p.
en tiM convex sorface of a inhere."]

OONCEPTIOir. M

tbem witb our ejes shut only in this, that they are kept stead-
ily in the view of the mind, bj being strongly associated with
the sensations of color, and with the original perceptions of
sight. This observation will be the more readilj admitted, if it
be considered, that, hj a skilful imitation of a natural landscape,
in a common show-box, the mind may be led to form the same
notions of variety of distance, and even of immense extent, as
if the original scene were presented to onr senses : and that,
although, in this case, we have a speculative conviction that the
sphere of our vision only extends to a few inches; yet so
sirong is the association between the original perceptions of
sights and the conceptions which they habitually produce, that
it is not possible for us, by an effort of our will, to prevent
these conceptions from taking place. .

From these observations it appears, that, when the concep-
tions of the mind are rendered steady and permanent, by being
strongly associated with any sensible impression, they command
our belief no less than our actual perceptions ; and, therefore,
if it were possible for us, with our eyes shut, to keep up, for a
length of time, the conception of any sensible object, we should,
as long as this effort continued, believe that the object was
present to our senses.

Variom phenomena explained upon theee principles, — It ap-
pears to me to be no slight confirmation of these remarks, thai
although, in the dark, the illusions of imagination are much
more liable to be mistaken for realities, than when their momen-
tary effects on the belief are continually checked and corrected
by the objects which the light of day presents to our percep-
tions ; yet, even total darkness is not so alarming to a person im-
pressed with the vulgar stories of apparitions, as a faint and
doyhtful ttuilighty which affords to the conceptions an opportunity
of fixing and prolonging their existence, by attaching themselves
to something which is obscurely exhibited to the eye. In like
manner, when we look through a fog, we are frequently apt to
mistake a crow for a man ; and the conception we have, upon
such an occasion, of the human figure, is much more distinct
and much more steady, than it would be possible for us to fom^

8*

90 ooKCKPTioir.

if we had no sensible object before us ; insomudi that when, oa
a more attentive observation, the crow shrinks to its own dimen-
sions, we find it impossible, by any efibrt, to conjure up the
phantom which a moment before we seemed to perceive.

If these observations are admitted, the effects which exhthi^
tiam of fictitious distress produce on the mind, will appear less
wonderful, than they are supposed to be. During the represen-
tation of a tragedy, I acknowledge, that we have a general con-
viction that the whole is a fiction ; but, I believe, it will be
found, that the violent emotions which are sometimes produced
by the distresses of the stage, takq their rise, in most cases,
from a momentary belief, that the distresses are reaL I say, in
most cases ; because, I acknowledge, that, independently of any
such belief, there is something contagious in a faithful expres-
sion of any of the passions.

The emotions produced by tragedy are, upon this supposition,
somewhat analogous to the dread we fed when we look down
from the battlement of a tower,* In both cases, we have a gen-

* With respect to the dread which we feel in looking down from the
oatdement of a tower, it is carious to remark the effects of habit in grad-
ually destroying it. The manner in which habit operates in this case,
teems to be by giving us a command over our thoughts, so as to enable as
to withdraw our attention from the precipice before us, and direct it to any
other object at pleasure. It is thus that the mason and the sailor not only
can take precautions for their own safety, but remain completely masters
of themselves, in situations where other men, engrossed with their imagin-
ary danger, would experience a total suspension of their faculties. Any
strong passion which occupies the mind, produces, for the moment, the
same effect with habit. A person alarmed with the apprehension of fire,
has been known to escape from the top of a house by a path, which, at
another time, he would have considered as impracticable ; and soldiers, in
mounting a breach, are said to have sometimes found their way to the
enemy, by a route which appeared inaccessible after their violent passions
had subsided.

From the principles which I have endeavored to establish in this chap-
ter, may be derived a simple, and I think, a satisfactory, explanation of the
manner in which superstition, considered in contradistinction to genuine
religion, operates on the mind. The gloomy phantoms which she presents
to her vioims in their early infancy; and which consist chiefly of inuis^

OONOEPTION. 9t

era! conviction, that there is no ground for the feelings we ex-
perience ; but the momentary influences of imagination are so
powerful as to produce these feelings, before reflection has time
to come to our relief.

or representations of spectres and demons, and of invisible scenes of hor-
ror, produce their effect^ not through the medium of reasoning and judg*
ment, but of the powers of conception and imagination. No argument is
alleged to prove their existence ; but strong and lively notions of them aro
conveyed ; and, in proportion as this is done, the belief of them becomes
steady and habitual. It is even sufficient in many cases, to resist all the
force of argument to the contrary, or, if it yields to it during the bnstie of
business and the light of day, its influence returns in the hours of solitude
and darkness. When the mind, too, is weakened by disease, or the infirmi-
ties of age, and when the atteotion ceases to be occupied with external ob-
jects, the thoughts are apt to revert to their first channel, and to dwell on
the conceptions to which they were accustomed in the nursery. " Let
custom," says Locke, *' from the very childhood, have joined figure and
shape to the idea of God, and what absurdities will that mind be liable to
about Deity 1 " A person of a lively but somewhat gloomy imagination
once acknowledged to me, that he could trace some of his superstitious
impressions with respect to the Deity, to the stem aspect of a judge whom
he had seen, when a school-boy, pronounce sentence of death upon a crim-
inal. Hence it would appear, that he who has the power of modelling the
habitual conceptions of an infant mind, is, in a great measure the arbiter
of its future happiness or misery. By guarding against the spectres con-
jured up by superstitious weakness, and presenting to it only images <^
what is good, lovely, and happy, he may secure through life a perpetual
sunshine to the sonl, and may perhaps make some provision against the
physical evils to which humanity is exposed. Even in those awful dis-
eases which disturb the exercise of reason, I am apt to think, that the
complexion of madness, in point of gayety or of despondency, depends
much on the nature of our first conceptions : and it would surely be no
inconsiderable addition to the comfort of any individual to know, that some
provision had been made by the tender care of his first instructors, to
lighten the pressure of this greatest of all earthly calamities, if it ever
should be his lot to bear it. In truth, the only efi^ectual antidote against
superstitious weakness is to inspire the mind with just and elevated no-
tions of the administration of the universe ; for we may rest assured, that
religion, in one form or another, is the natural and spontaneous growth of
man's intellectual and moral constitution ; and the only question in the
case of individuals is, whether, under the regulation of an enlightened
understanding, it is to prove the best solace of life and the surest sopporl

ABSTBAOnOK.

CHAPTEE IV.

OF ABSTBACTIOK.

L GmercH OUervaiioni en thu Faeuki/ of the Mind.

Ths origin of general terms. — The origin of appellativesy or,
in other words, the origin of those classes of objects which, in
the schools, are called genera and species, has been considered
hj some philosophers as one of the most difficult problems in
metaphysics. The account of it which is given by Mr. Smith,
in his dissertation on the Origin of Languages, appears to me
to be equally simple and satisfactory.

" The assignation," says he, " of particular names, to denote
particular objects ; that is, the institution of nouns substantive ;
would probably be one of the first steps towards the formation
of language. The particular cave, whose covering sheltered the
ftavage from the weather ; the particular tree, whose fruit re-
lieved his hunger ; the particular fountain, whose water allayed
his thirst ; would first be denominated by the words, cave, tree,
fountain; or by whatever other appellations he might think
proper, in that primitive jargon, to mark them. Afterwards,
when the more enlarged experience of this savage had led him
to observe, and his necessary occasions obliged him to make
mention of, other caves, and other trees, and other fountains ;
he would naturally bestow, upon each of those new objects, the
0ame name by which he had been accustomed to express the
dimilar object he was first acquainted with. And thus, those

•f virtue, or to be conyerted, bj the influence of prejudices and a diseased
imagination, into a source of imbecility, inconsistency, and suffering.

ABSTRACTION. 98

words, which were originally the proper names of individnab,
would each of them insensibly become the common name of a
multitude."

" It is this application," he continues, " of the name of an in-
dividual to a great number of objects, whose resemblance natu-
rallj recalls the idea of that individual, and of the name which
expresses it, that seems originallj to have given occasion to the
formation of those classes, and assortments, which, in the schools,
are called genera and species ; and of which the ingenious and
eloquent Bonsseau finds himself so much at a loss to account
for the origin. What constitutes a species, is merely a number
of objects, bearing a certain degree of resemblance to one an-
other ; and, on that account, denominated hj a single appella-
tion, which may be applied to express any one of them."

This view of the natural progress of the mind, in forming
classifications of external objects, receives some illustration
from a fact mentioned by Captain Cook, in his account of a
small island called Wateeoo, which he visited in sailing from
New Zealand to the Friendly Islands. ^ The ^ihabitants," says
he, ^ were afraid to come near our cows and horses, nor did they
form the least conception of their nature. But the sheep and
goats did not surpass the limits of their ideas ; for they gave us
to understand that they knew them to be birds. It will appear,"
he adds, ^ rather incredible, that human ignorance could ever
make so strong a mistake, there not being the most distant simil-
itude between a sheep or goat, and any winged animal. But
these people seemed to know nothing of the existence of any
other land animals, besides hogs, dogs, and birds. Our sheep
and goat£f, they could see, were very difierent creatures from
the two first, and therefore they inferred that they must belong
to the latter class, in which they knew that there is a considera-
ble variety of species." I would add to Cook's very judicious
remarks, that the mistake of these islanders probably did not
arise frx)m their considering a sheep or a goat as bearing a
more striking resemblance to a bird, than to the two classes of
quadrupeds with which they were acquainted ; but to the want
of a generic word, such as qitculrupedf comprehending t^iese two

M ABSTRACTION.

■pedes ; which men in their situation would no more he led to
Ibrm, than a person who had only seen one individual of each
species, would think of an appellative to express hoth, instead
of applying a proper name to each. In consequence of the
varietj of hirds, it appears, that they had a generic name com«
prehending all of them, to which it was not unnatural for them
to refer any new animal they met with.

The procesi of abitracticn explained, — The classification of
different ohjects supposes a power of attending to some of their
qualities or attributes, without attending to the rest ; for no two
objects are to be found without some specific difference ; and no
assortment or arrangement can be formed among things not
perfectly alike, but by losing sight of their distinguishing pecu-
liarities, and limiting the attention to those attributes which be-
long to them in common. Indeed, without this power of attend-
ing separately to things which our senses present to us in a state
of union, we never could have had any idea oi number ; for, be-
fore we can consider different objects as forming a multitude, it
is necessary that we should be able to apply to all of them one
common name ; OT, in other words, that we should reduce them
all to the same genus. The various objects, for example, ani-
mate and inanimate, which are, at this moment before me, I may
class and number in a variety of different ways, according to the
view of them that I choose to take. I may reckon successively
the number of sheep, of cows, of horses, of elms, of oaks, of
beeches ; or I may first reckon the number of animals, and then
the number of trees ; or I may first reckon the number of all
the organized substances which my senses present to me. But
whatever be the principle on which my classification proceeds,
it is evident that the objects numbered together must be consid-
ered in those respects only in which they agree with each other ;
and that, if I had no i>ower of separating the combinations of
sense, I never could have conceived them as forming a plurality.

ThU power of considering certain ^wdities or attrihutes of an
object apart from the rest; or, as I would rather choose to define
it, thep6wer which the understanding has of separating the com-
tinations which are presented to it, is distinguished by logicians

▲BSTBAonoir. 95

by the name of ahtiraetum.' It has been sapposed, bj some phi^
losophers, (with what probability I shall not now inquire,) to
form the charactcristical attribute of a rational nature. That it
is one of the most important of all our faculties, and very inti-
mately connected with the exercise of our reasoning powers, is
beyond dispute.

Usefulness of the power of ahstroction, — The subserviency of
abstraction to the power of reasoning, and also its subserriency
to the exertions of a poetical or creative imagination, shall be
afterwards fully illustrated. At present, it is sufficient for my
purpose to remark, that as abstraction is the groundwoiic of
dassificatiim, without this faculty of the mind we should have
been perfectly incapable of general speculation, and all our
knowledge must necessarily have been limited to individuals ;
and that some of the most useful branches of science, pardca-
larly the different branches of mathematics, in which the very
subjects of our reasoning are abstractions of the understanding,
could never have possibly had an existence. With respect to
the subserviency of this faculty to poetical imagination, it is no
less obvious, that, as the poet is supplied with all his materials
by experience, and as his province is limited to combine and
modify things which really exist, so as to produce new wholes
of his own ; so, every exertion which he thus makes of his pow-
ers, presupposes the exercise of abstraction in decomposing and
separating actual combinations. And it was on this account
that, in the chapter oa conception, I was led to make a distinc-
tion between that faculty, which is evidently simple and uncom-
pounded, and the power of imagination, which (at least in the
sense in which I employ the word in these inquiries) is the re-
sult of a combination of various other powers.

I have introduced these remarks, in order to point out a dif-
ference between the abstractions which are subservient to r«a*
soning, and those which are subservient to imagiruaion. And,
if I am not mistaken, it is a distinction which has not been suf*
ficiently att^^nded to by some ivriters of eminence. In every
instance in which imi^ination is employed in forming new
wholes, by decompounding and combining the conceptions of

•6 ABBTBAOTIOlf.

iense, it is evidently necessarj that the poet or the painter
should be able to state to himself the circumstances abstracted,
as separate objects of conception. Bnt this is by no means re-
quisite in every case in which abstraction is subservient to the
power of reasoning ; for it frequently happens, that we can r«oh
9on concerning one qiudity or property of an object abttraeUd
from the rest, while, at the same time, we find it imponihie to cdn-
eeive it geparaJtdy, Thus, I can reason concerning extension
and figure, without any reference to color ; although it may be
doubted, if a person possessed of sight can make extension and
figure steady objects of conception, without connecting with
them one color or another. Nor is this always owing (as it is
in the instance now mentioned) merely to the association of
ideas ; for there are cases, in which we can reason concerning
things separately, which it is impossible for us to suppose any
being so constituted as to conceive apart Thus, we can reason
concerning length, abstracted from any other dimension; al-
though, surely, no understanding can make length, withoat
breadth, an object of conception. And, by the way, this leads
me to take notice of an error, which mathematical teachers are
apt to commit, in explaining the first principles of geometry.
By dwelling long on Euclid's first definitions, they lead the stu-
dent to suppose that they relate to notions which are extremely
mysterious; and to strain his powers in fruitless attempts to
conceive, what cannot possibly be made an object of conception.
If these definitions were omitted, or very slighdy touched upon,
and the attention at once directed to geometrical reasonings, the
student would immediately perceive, that although the lines in
the diagrams are really extended in two dimensions, yet that
the demonstrations relate only to one of them ; and that the hu-
man understanding has the faculty of reasoning concenung
things separately, which are always presented to us, both by
our powers of perception and conception, in a state of union.
Such abstractions, in truth, are familiar to the most illiterate of
mankind ; and it is in this very way that they are insensibly
formed. When a tradesman speaks of the length of a roomy in
eontradistinction to its breadth ; or when he speaks of the dis-

ABSTBAOTION. 97

tance between any two objects, he forms exactly the same ab-
straction which is referred to by Euclid in his second definition,
and which most of his commentators have thought it necessary
to illustrate by prolix metaphysical disquisitions.

Ahstraetian ig possible withoui genercdizcUion, — I shall only
observe further with respect to the nature and province of this
&bulty of the mind, that notwithstanding its essential subservi*
ency to every act of classification, yet it might have been exer*
cised, although we had only been acquainted with one Individ*
nal object Although, for example, we had never seen but one
rose, we might stil^ have been able to attend to its color, with-
ont thinking of its other properties. This has led some philos-
ophers to suppose, that another faculty besides abstraction, to
which they have given the name of generalization, is necessary
to account for the formation of genera and species ; and they
have endeavored to show, that although generalization without
abstraction is impossible, yet that we might have been so formed
as to be able to abstract without being capable of generalizing.
The grounds of this opinion it is not necessary for me to exam-
ine, for any of the purposes which I have at present in view.*

TL. Of Ihe Objects of our Thoughts, when we employ general
terms. Further consideration of the ideal theory, — From the

* The words abstraction and generalizatian are commonly, but improp-
erly, used as synonymous : and the same inaccuracy is frequently commit-
ted in speaking of abstract or general ideas, as if the two expressions were
oonyertible. A person who had never seen but one rose (it has been al«
ready remarked) might yet have been able to consider its color apart from
its other qualities ; and therefore, (to express myself in conformity to com-
mon language,) there may be such a thing as an idea which is at once ab-
stract and particular. After having perceived this quality as belonging to
a variety of individuals, we can consider it without reference to any of them,
and thus form the notion of redness or whiteness in general, which may be
called a general abstract idea. These words abstra/A and general^ therefore,
when applied to ideas, are as completely distinct from each other as any
two words to be found in the language.

It is indeed true, that the formation of every general notion presupposes
abstrBction ; but it is surely improper on this account, to call a general
term an abstract term, or a general idea an abstract idea.

9

96 ABSTBACnON.

aecoant which was given in a fonner chapter of th joimm n
theories of perception, it appears to have been a prevailing
opinion among philosophers, that the qualities of external ob*
jects are perceived bj means of images or species transmitted
to the mind by the organs of sense ; an opinion of which I al-
ready endeavored to trace the origin, from certain natural preja-
dices suggested by the phenomena of the material world. The
same train of thinking has led them to suppose, that, in the case
of all our other intellectual operations, there exist in the mind
certain ideas distinct from the mind itself; and that these idess
are the objects about which our thoughts are employed. When
I recollect, for example, the appearance of an absent friend, it
is supposed that the immediate object of my thoughts is an tdea
of my friend, which I at first received by my senses, and which
I have been enabled to retain in the mind by the faculty of
memory. When I form to myself any imaginary combination
by an effort of poetical invention, it is supposed, in like manner,
that the parts which I combine, existed previously in the mind,
and furnish the materials on which it is the province of imagi-
nation to operate. It is to Dr. Reid we owe the important re*
mark, that all these notions are wholly hypothetical ; that it is
impossible to produce a shadow of evidence in support of them }
and that, even although we were to admit their truth, they would
not render the phenomena in question more intelligible. Ac-
cording to his principles, therefore, we have no ground for sup-
posing, that, in any one operation of the mind, there exists in it
an object distinct from the mind itself; and all the conunon ex-
pressions which involve such a supposition, are to be considered
as unmeaning circumlocutions, which serve only to disguise
from us the real history of the intellectual phenomena.*

* In order to prevent misapprehensions of Dr. Beid's meaning in his rB»>
sonings against the ideal theory, it may be necessary to explain, a little
more full} than I have done in the text, in what sense he calls in qnestion
the existence of ideas; for the meaning which the word is employed to ooih,
vey in popular discourse, differs widely from that which is annexed to it
by the philosophers whose opinion he controverts. This explanation I
■hall give in his own words :-^

▲B8Tltl.CTI0K. 9ft

^ We are at a loss to know," says this excellent philosopher,
^ how we perceive distant objects ; how we remember things
past ; how we imagine things that have no existence. Ideas in
the oiind seem to account for all these operations ; thej are all
by the means of ideas reduced to one operation ; to a kind of
feeling, or immediate perception of things present, and in con*
tact with the percipient ; and feeling is an operation so familiar,
that we think it needs no ea^lanation, but may serve to explain
other operaticns.

^ But this feeling, or immediate perception, is as difficult to
be comprehended, as the things which we pretend to explain by
it. Two things may be in contact, without any feeling of per-
ception ; there must, therefore, be in the percipient, a power to
feel, or to perceive. How this power is produced, and how it
operates, is quite bey<Mid the reach of our knowledge. As little
can we know, whether this power must be limited to things
present, and in contact with us. Neither can any man pretend
to prove, that the Being who gave us the power to perceive

" In popular language, idea signifies the same thing as conception, ap-
prehension, notion. To have an idea of any thing, is to conceive it To
have a distinct idea, is to conceive it distinctly. To have no idea of it, ii
not to conceive it at all. When the word idea is taken in this popnlar
sense, no man can possibly doubt whether he has ideas.

"According to the philosophical meaning of the word idea, it does not
signify that act of the mind which we call thought, or conception, but some
cbjea of thought. Of these objects of thought called ideas, different sects
«f philosophers have given very different aooonnts.

** Some have held them to be self-existent; others, to be in the divine
mind ; others, in our own minds ; and others, in the brain, or sensorium."
—p. 213.

I don't know of any author who, prior to Dr. Reid, has expressed him-
self on this subject with so much justness and precision as Father Buffier,
in the following passage of his Treatise on Fint Ihoht.

** If we confine ourselves to what is intelligible in -our observations on
Idects, we will say, they are nothing but mere modifications of the mind as
a thinking being. They are called wfecw with regard to the object repre-
sented ;. and perception, with regard to the faculty representing. It is man-
ifest that our ideas, considered in this sense, are not more disdngtushod
from our onderstanding than motion is £rom a body moved."

100 AB8TRACTIOK.

things present, may not ^ve us the power to pereeive things
distant, to remember things past, and to conceive things that
never existed."

What ideas carretpond to general terms. — As in all the an
cient metaphysical systems it was taken for granted, (probably
from the analogy of our external perceptions,) that every exer-
tion of thought implies the existence of an object distinct from
the thinking being; it naturally occurred, as a very carious
question, What is the immediate object of our attention, when
we are engaged in any general speculation ; or, in other words,
what is the nature of the idea corresponding to a general term?
When I think of any particular object which I have formerly
perceived, such as a particular friend, a particular tree, or a
particular mountain, I can comprehend what is meant by a pic-
ture or representation of such objects : and therefore the expla-
nation given by the ideal theory of that act of the mind whidi
we formerly called conception, if not perfectly satisfactory, is at
least not wholly unintelligible. But what account shall we give
upon the principles of this theory, of the objects of my thoughts,
when I employ the words friend, tree, mountain, as generic
terms ? For, that all the things I have ever perceived are indi-
viduals ; and consequently, that the ideas denoted by general
words, (if such ideas exist,) are not copied from any originals
that have fallen under my observation, is not*only self-evident^
but almost an identical proposition.

Opinions of the ancients on this svibject — In answer to this
question, the Platonists, and, at a still earlier period, Xhe Pytha-
goreans taught, that although these universal ideas are not
copied from any objects perceivable by sense, yet that they
have an existence independent of the human mind, and are no
more to be confounded with the understanding, of which they
are the proper objects, than material things are to be confounded
with our powers of external perception ; that as all the individ-
uals which compose a genus must possess something in common :
and as it is in consequence of this that they belong to that, ge-
nus, and are distinguishable by the same name, this Qommoo
thing forms the essence of each, and is the object of the under

ABSTRACTtOK. 101

standing, wnen we reason concerning the genus. They main*
tained altso, that this common essence* notwithstanding its inse^w
arable union with a multitude of different individuals, is, in itself
one and indivisible.

On most of these points, the philosophy of Aristotle seems to
have coincided very nearly with that of Plato. The language^
boiireyer, which these philosophers employed on this subject was
different, and gave to their doctrines Hie appearance of a widef
diversity than probably existed between their opinions. While
Plato was led, by his passion for the marvellous and the myste-
rious, to insist on the incomprehensible union of the same idea
or essence with a number of individuals, without multiplication
or division ; f Aristotle, more cautious, and aiming at greater
perspicuity, contented himself with sajring, that all individuals
are composed of matter and form; and that it is in consequence
of possessing a common form, that different individuals belong
to the same genus. But they both agreed, that as the matter,
or the individual natures, of objects were perceived by sense ;
80 the general idea, or essence, or form, was perceived by the
intellect ; and that, as the attention of the vulgar was chiefly
engrossed mih the former, so the latter furnished to the philos-
opher the materials of his speculations.

The chief difference between the opinions of Plato and Aris-
totle on the subject of ideas, related to the mode of their exist-
ence. That the matter of which aU things are made, existed
from eternity, was a principle which both admitted ; but Plato

* In this very imperfect sketch of the opinions of the ancients concern-
ing nnirersals, I have snbstitated, instead of the word idea, the word
easenoe, as better fitted to conyey to a modem reader the true import of
Plato's expressions. The word essentia is said to have been first employed
by Cicero ; and it was afterwards adopted by the schoohnen, in the same
sense in which the Platonists used the word idea,

t " The idea of a thing/' says PUito, " is that which makes om of the
many; which, preserving the unity and integrity of its own nature, runs
through and mixes with things infinite in number ; and yet, however mul-
tiform it may appear, is always the same : so that by it we find out and
discriminate the thing, whatever shapes it may assume, and under what-
ever disguise it may conceal itself."

9*

102 ABSTBACTIOH.

farther tanght,' that of every species of things, there is an idea
of farm which also existed from eternity ; and that this idea i$
the exemplar J or models according to which the individuals of the
species were made ; whereas Aristotle held, that, although mat-
ter may exist without form, yet that forms could not exist with-
out matter*

Opinions of the philosophers of the Middle Ages. — As it is
not my object, in this work, to enter into historical details, any
further than is necessary for illustrating the subjects of whicli I
treat, I shall pass over the various attempts which were .made
by the Eclectic philosophers, (a sect which a^se at Alexandria,
about the beginning of the third century,) to reconcile the doc-
trines of Plato and Aristotle, concerning ideas. The endless
difficulties,4it would appear, to which their speculations led, in-
duced, at last, the more cautious and modest inquirers to banish
them entirely from Dialectics, and to content themselves with
studying the arrangements or classifications of universals, whidi
the ancient philosophers had made, without engaging in any
metaphysical disquisitions concerning their nature. Porphjiy,
in particular, although he tells us that he has speculated much
on this subject, yet, in his Introduction to Aristotle's Catego-
ries, waives the consideration of it as obscure and intricate. On
such questions as these : '^ Whether genera and species exist in
nature, or are only conceptions of the human mind ; and (on
the supposition that they exist in nature) whether they are inher-
ent in the objects of sense, or disjoined from them ? " he de-
clines giving any determination.

This passage in Porphyry's Introduction is an object of curi-
osity ; as by a singular concurrence of circumstances, it served
to perpetuate the memory of a controversy from which it was
the author's intention to divert the inquiries of his readers.
Amidst the disorders produced by the irruptions of the barba-
rians, the knowledge of the Greek tongue was almost entirely
lost ; and the studies of philosophers were confined to Lratin
verswns of Aristotle's Dialectics, and Porphyry's Introduction
concerning the Categories. With men who had a relish for such
disquisitions, it is probable that the passage already quoted from

AB8TBACTI0K. 108

Porphyry, would have a tendency rather to excite than to damp
curiosity ; and accordingly we have reason to believe, that the
controversy to whifli it relates continued, during the dark ages,
to form a favorite subject of discussion. The opinion which
was prevalent was, (to use the scholastic language of the times,)
that universals do not exist before things, nor after things, but in
things ; that is, (if I may be allowed to attempt a commentary
upon expressions to which I do not pretend to be able to annex
very precise notions,) universal ideas have not (as Plato thought)
an existence separable from individual objects; and therefore
they could not have existed prior to them in the order of time ;
nor yet, (according to the doctrine of the Stoics,) are they mere
conceptions of the mind, formed in consequence of an examina-
tion and comparison of particulars ; but these ideas or forms
are from eternity united inseparably with that matter of which
things consist ; or, as the Aristotelians sometimes express them-
selves, the forms of things are from eternity immersed in mat-
ter. The reader will, I hope, forgive me for entering into these
details, not only on account of their connection with the obser-
vations which are to foUow ; but as they relate to a controversy
which, for many ages, employed all the ingenuity and learning
in Europe ; and which, therefore, however frivolous in itself,
deserves the attention of philosophers, as one of the most curi-
ous events which occur in the history of the humap mind.

Such appears to have been the prevailing opinion concerning
the nature of universals, till the eleventh century ; when a new
doctrine, or (as some authors think) a doctrine borrowed from
the school of Zeno, was proposed by Boscelinus ; and soon after
very widely propagated over Europe by the abilities and elo-
quence of one of his scholars, the celebrated Peter Abelard.
According to these philosophers, there are no existences in na-
ture corresponding to general terms ; and the objects of our at-
tention in all of our general speculations are not ideas, bat
words.

In consequence of this new doctrine, the schoolmen gradually
formed themselves into two sects ; one of which attached itself
to the opinions of Boscelinus and Abelard, while the oth^r ad-

104 Noxnf ALiflx ijn> bbalisk.

hered to the principles of Aristotle. Of these sects, the fi>nMf
are known in literary history by the name of the JSinninaiuU,
the latter, by that of the ReaUsU.

As it is with the doctrine of the Nominalists that my own
opinion on this subject coincideSi and as I propose to deduce
Cnhb it some consequences, which appear to me important, I
shall endeavor to state it as clearly and precisely as I am abk,
pursuing, however, rather the train of my own thoughts, tlum
guided by the reasons of any particular author.

The doctrine of the NominalisU stated and defended. — I f(»-
merly explained in what manner the words, which, in the infancj
of language, were proper names, became gradually appellatives;
in consequence of which extension of their significadou, thej
would express, when applied to individuals, those qualities oolj
which are common to the whole genus. Now, it is evideo^i
that, with respect to individuals of the same genua, there an
two classes of truths ; the one, particular truths relating to each
individual apart, and deduced from a consideration of its pecu-
liar and distinguishing properties ; the other, general truths, de-
duced from a consideration of their common qualities, and
equally applicable to all of them. Such truths may be conven-
iently expressed by means of general terms; so as to hm
propositions, comprehending under them as many particular
truths, as there are individuals comprehended under the general
terms. It is further evident, that there are tvH} ways in vkuA
such general tnUhs may he obtained; either by fixing the attentiM
on one individual^ in such a manner that our reasoning may in-
vobfe no circumstances but those which are common to the wkoit
genus ; or, (Joying aside entirely the consideration of things,) hg
means of the general terms with which language supplies us. In
either of these cases, our investigations must necessarily lead us
to general conclusions. In the Jirst case, our attention being
limited to those circumstances, in which the subject of our rea-
soning resembles aU other individuals of the same genus, wbal-
ever we demonstrate with respect to this subject must be true
of every other to which the same attributes belong. In the lec
and case, the subject of our reasoning being expreaaed by a

90MIIIALISH AND BXAUSlf* 106

generic word, wbich applies in common to a number of indiyid-
uals, the conclusion we form must be as extensive in its appli*
cation, as the name of -the subject is in its meaning. The for-
mer process is analogous to the practice of geometersy who, in
their most general reasonings, direct the attention to a particu-
lar diagram ; the latter, to that of (dgehraiaU^ who carry on their
investigations bj means of symbols.* In cases of this last sort^
it may frequently happen, from the association of ideas, that a
general word may reccdl same one individual to which it is appli-
cable : but this is so far from being necessary to the accuracy of
our reasoning, that, excepting in some cases, in which it may
be nseful to check us in the abuse of general terms, it always *
has a tendency, more or less, to mislead us from the truth. As
the decision of a judge must necessarily be impartial, when he
is only acquainted with the relations in which the parties stand
to each other, and when their names are supplied by letters of
the alphabet^ or by the fictitious names of Titus, Caius, and
Sempronius ; so, in every process of reasoning, the conclusion
we form is most likely to be logically just, when the attention is
confined solely to signs; and when the imagination does not
present to it those individual objects, which may warp the judg*
ment by casual associations.

To these remaiks, it may not be improper to add, that, al-
though in our speculations concerning individuals, it is possible
to carry on processes of reasoning by fixing our attention on
the objects themselves, without the use of language ; yet it is
also in our power to accomplish the same end, by substituting .

* These two methods of obtaining general truths proceed on the same
principles, ani are, in fact, much less different from each other, than they
appear to be at first view. When we cany on a process of general reason-
ing by fixing onr attention on a particular indiyidnal of a genus, this in^
dividual is to be considered merely as a sign or repreaentatiije, and differs
from any other sign only in this, that it bears a certain resemblance to the
things it denotes. The straight lines, which are employed in the fifth book
of Euclid to represent magnitudes in general, differ from the algebraical
expressions of these magnitudes in the same respects in which pictni»>
writing differs from arbitrary cfaaneters.

106 , MOlflKALISK AND BEAXI8H.

(or these objects, words, or otiier arbitrary signs. The differ*
ence between the emplojment of language in such iuuses, aid in
our speculations concerning classes or genera, is, that in the for-
mer case, the use of words is, in a great measure, optional ;
whereas, in the latter, it is essentiallj necessary. This obser-
yation deserves our attention the more, that, if I am not mistak-
en, H has contributed to mislead some of the Realists, by giving
rise to an idea, that the use of language, in thinking about uni-
versals, however convenient, is not more necessary than in
thinking about individuals.

According to this view of the process of the mind, in carrying
on general speculations, that idea, which the ancient philoso-
phers considered as the essence of an individual, is nothing
more than the particular quality or qualities in which it resem- •
bles other individuals of the same class ; and in consequence of
which, a generic name is applied to it It is the possession of
this quality, that entitles the individual to the generic appella-
tion, and which, therefore, may be said to be essential to its
classification with that particular genus ; but as all classifica-
tions are to a certain degree arbitrary, it does not necessarily
follow, that it is more essential to its existence as an individual,
than various other qualities which we are accustomed to regard
as accidentaL In other words, (if I may borrow the language
of modem philosophy,) this quality forms its namincdy but not
its reed essence.

These observations will, I trust, be sufficient for the satisfac-
tion of such of my readers as are at all conversant with philo-
sophical inquiries. For the sake of others, to whom this disqui-
sition may be new, I have added the following illustrations.

AU reasoning may take place by symbols^ or arbitrary Hgntj
ahme. — I shall have occasion to examine, in another part of
my work, how far it is true, (as is commonly believed,) that
every process of reasoning may be resolved into a series of syl-
logisms ; and to point out some limitations, with which, I appre-
hend, it is necessary that this opinion should be received. As
it would lead me, however, too far from my present subject^ to
anticipate any part of the doctrine which I am then to propose.

OOKCBPTION* 9i

Suppose a lighted candle to be so placed before a ooaeave
mirror, that the image of the flame may be seen between the
mirror and the eye of the observer. In this case, a person who
is acquainted with the principles of optics, or who has seen the
experiment made before, has so strong a speculative conviction
>f the non-existence of the object in that pkce where he sees its
miage, that he would not hesitate to put his finger to the appar*
ent flame, without any apprehension of injury.

Suppose, however, that in such a case it were possible for the
observer to banish completely from his thoughts all the circom-
Btances of the experiment, and to confine his attention wholly
to his perception ; would he not believe the image to be a real-
ity ? and would he not expect the same consequences firpni
touching it, as from touching a real body in a state of infiamma-
tion ? If these questions be answered in the affirmative, it will
follow ; that the effect of the perception, while it engages the at^
tention camplMy to itself, is to produce belief; and that the
speculative disbelief according to which our conduct in ordinary
cases is regulated, is the result of a recollection of the varioua
circumstances with which the experiment is accompanied.

If, in such a case as I have now supposed, the appearance
exhibited to us is of such a nature as to threaten us with any
immediate danger, the effect is the same as if we were to banish
fit)m our thoughts the circumstances of the experiment, and to
limit oqr attention solely to what we perceive : for here the be-
lief, which is the first effect of the perception, alarms our fears,
and influences our conduct, before reflection has time to oper-
ate. In a very ingenious optical deception, which was lately
exhibited in this city, the image of a flower was presented to
the spectator ; and when he was about to lay hold of it with his
hand, a stroke was aimed at him by the image of a dagger. If
a person who has seen this experiment is asked, in his cooler
moments, whether or not he believes the dagger which he Baw
to be real, he will readily answer in the negative ; and yet the
accurate statement of the fact undoubtedly is, that the first and
the proper effect of the perception \a belief; and that the disb>
Uei he feels is the effect of subsequent refiection.

8

Se OOKOBFTIOK.

The specoladye disbelief which we feel with respect to the
lUnsions of imagination, I oonceiye to be analogous to our speo-
Qlative disbelief of the existence of the object exhibited to the
eje in this optical deception ; as our belief that the illusioDS of
imagination are real, while that faculty occupied the mind ex*
dusivelj, is analogous to the belief produced by the optical
deception while the attention is limited to our peroeptiqu, and is
withdrawn from the circumstances in which the experiment is
made.

On the belief which attends perception. — These observations
lead me to take notice of a circumstance with respect to the be- /
Hef accompanying perception^ which it appears to me necessaiy
to state, in order to render Dr. Reid's doctrine on that subject
completely satisfactory. He has shown, that certain sensations
are, by a law of our nature, accompanied with an irresistible
belief of the existence of certain qualities of external objects.

But this law extends no further than to the present existence
of the quality ; that is, to its existence while we feel the cone-
spondinff sensation. Whence is it then, that we ascribe to the
quality an existence independent of our perception ? I appre-
hend we learn to do this by experience alone. We find that
we cannot, as in the case of imagination, disnuss or recall the
perception of an external object J£ I open my eyes, I cannot
prevent myself from seeing the prospect which is before me. I
leam, therefore, to ascribe to the objects of my senses, not only
an existence at the time I perceive them, but an independent
and a permanent existence.

j&» sleep and madness^ imagination is fvXLy believed. — It is a
strong confirmation of this doctrine, that in sleep, when (as I
shall endeavor afterwards to show) the infiuenoe of the will
over the train of our thoughts is suspended, and when, of con-
sequence, the time of their continuance in the mind is not regu-
lated by us, we ascribe to the objects of imagination an inde-
pendent and permanent existence, as we do when awake to the
objects of perception. The same thing happens in those kinds of
madness, in which a particular idea takes possession of the atten*
tion, and occupies it to the exclusion of every thing else. Indeed,

irOUINALISM AND SEALIBX. 109

thing, that every process of reasoning is perfectly analogous to
an algebraical operation. What I mean by <' the other Intel*
lectual processes distinct from reasoning, which it is necessary
for us sometimes to employ in the investigation of truth," will, I
hope, appear clearly from the following remarks.

Mental operations subsidiary to reasoning. — In algebraical
investigations, it is well known, that the practical application of
a general expression is frequently limited by the conditions
which the hypothesis involves ; and that, in consequence of a
want of attention to this circumstance, some mathematicians of
the first eminence have been led to adopt the most paradoxical
and absurd conclusions. Without this cautious exercise of the
judgment in the interpretation of the algebraical language, no
dexterity in the use of the calculus will be sufficient to preserve
us from error. Even in algebra, therefore, there is an applicar
don of the intellectual powers perfectly distinct from any pro-
cess of reasoning, and which is absolutely necessary for con-
ducting us to the truth.

In Geometry, we are not liable to adopt the same paradoxical
conclusions, as in algebra ; because the diagrams, to which our
attention is directed, serve as a continual check on our reason-
ing powers. These diagrams exhibit, to our very senses, a va-
riety of relations among the quantities under consideration,
which the language of algebra is too general to express ; in con«
sequence of which, we are not conscious of any effort of the
judgment distinct from a process of reasoning. As every geo«
metrical investigation, however, may be expressed algebraically,
it is manifest, that in geometry, as well as in algebra, there is an
exercise of the intellectual powers, distinct from the logical pro*
cess ; although, in the former science, it is rendered so easy, by
the use of diagrams, as to escape our attention.

The same source of error and of absurdity, which exists in
algebra, is to be found, in a much greater degree, in the other
branches of knowledge. Abstracting entirely from the ambig*
uity of language, and supposing also our reasonings to be logi-
cally accurate, it would still be necessary for us, from time t6
time, in all our speculations, to k^ aside the use of words^and t9

10

110 K0MIKALI8K A.KD BBAL18M.

have recourse to particular examples or ilhutraiionSy in order to
correct and to Urnit our general conclueions. To a want of at-
tention to itiis circumstance, a number of the speculative ab-
aurdities which are current in the world mighty I am persuaded^
be easily traced.

Besides, however, this source of error, which is in some de-
gree common to all the sciences, there is a great variety of
others, from which mathematics are entirely exempted; and
which perpetually tend to lead us astray in our philosophical
inquiries. Of these, the most important is, that amhiguity in the
siffnijication of wordsy which renders it so difficult to avoid em-
ploying the same expressions in different senses, in the course
of the same process of reasoning. This source of mistake, in-
deed, is apt, in a much greater degree, to affect our conclusions
in metaphysics, morals, and politics, than in the different branches
of natural philosophy ; but if we except mathematics, there is
no science whatever, in which it has not a very sensible influ-
ence. In algebra, we may proceed with perfect safety through
the longest investigations, without carrying our attention beyond
the signs, till we arrive at the last result. But in the other sci-
ences, excepting in those cases in which we have fixed the
meaning of all our terms by accurate definitions, and have ren-
dered the use of these terms perfectly familiar to us by very
long habit, it is but seldom that we can proceed in this manner,
without danger of error. In many cases, it is necessary for us
to keep up, during the whole of our investigations, a scrupulous
and constant attention to the signification of our expressions ;
and in most cases, this caution in the use of words is a much
more difficult effort of the mind, than the logical process. But
still this furnishes no exception to the general doctrine already
delivered ; for the attention we find it necessary to give to the
import of our words arises only from the accidental circum
stance of their ambiguity, and has no essential connection with
that process of the mind which is properly called reasoning ; and
which consists in the inference of a conclusion from premises.
In all the sciences, this process of the mind is perfectly analo-
gous to an algebraical operation ; or, in other words, (when the

ABSTRACIIOK. Ill

meaning of onr expressions is once fixed bj definitions,) it maj
be carried on entirely bj the nse of signs, without attending,
during the time of the process, to the things signified.

The conclusion to which the foregoing observations lead, ap-
pears to me to be decisiye of the question, with respect to the ob-
jects of our thoughts when we employ general terms ; for if it be
granted, that words, even when employed without any reference
to their particular signification, form an instrument of thought
sufficient for all the purposes of reasoning ; the only shadow
of an argument in proof of the common doctrine on the subject,
(I mean that which is founded on the impossibility of explainv
ing this process of the mind on any other hypothesis,) falls to
the ground. Nothing less, surely, than a conviction of this im-
possibility, could have so long reconciled philosophers to an
hypothesis unsupported by any direct evidence ; and acknowl-
edged, even by its warmest defenders, to involve much difficulty
and mystery.

Use8 of iUustraied and ahfrtxct rectsoning, — It does not fall
within my plan to enter, in this part of my work, into a par>
ticular consideration of the practical consequences which follow
from the foregoing doctrine. I cannot, however, help remark-
ing the importance of cultivating, on the one hand, a talent for
ready and various illustration ; and, on the other, a habit of rea-
soning by means of general terms. The former talent is neces-
sary, not only for correcting and limiting our general conclu-
sions, but for enabling us to apply our knowledge, when occasion
requires, to its real practical use. The latter serves the double
purpose, of preventing our attention from being distracted dur-
ing the course of our reasonings, by ideas which are foreign to
the point in question, and of diverting the attention from those
conceptions of particular objects and particular events which
might disturb the judgment, by the ideas and feelings which are
apt to be associated with them, in consequence of our own cas-
ual experience.

This last observation points out to us, also, one principal
foundation of the art of the orator. As his object is not so much
to inform and satisfy the understandings of his hearers, as to

lis ABSTRACTION.

fcroe their immediate assent ; it is frequendj of use to him to
clothe his reaBonings in that specific and figurative languagei
which may either awaken in their minds associations figivorable
tQ his purpose) or may divert their attention from a logical ex-
amination of his argument ▲ process of reasoning so exr
pressed, afifords at <mce an exercise to the judgment, to the
imagination, and to the passions; and is apt, even when loose
and inconsequential, to impose on the best understandings.

It appears further, from the remarks whieh have been made,
that the perfection of philosophical language, considered either
as an instrument of thought, w as a medium, of communication
with others, consists in the use of expressions, which, from their
generality, have no tendency to awaken the powers of concep-
tion and imagination ; or, in other words, it consists in its ap-
proaching^ a« nearly as possible, in its nature, to the language
of algebra. And hence the efiects which long habits of philo-
sophical speculation have in weakening, by disuse, those facul-
ties of the mind, which are neeessary for the exertions of the
poet and the orator ; and of gradually forming a style of compo-
sition, whieh they who read merely for amusement, are apt to
censure for a want of vivacity and of ornament.*

ILL Eemarb on Ae <^iuoiu of warn mocUm phUo9$pker9 on
the su^eet of the foregoing aection. — After the death of Abe-
lard, through whose abilities and eloquence the sect of Nominal-
ists had ei^joyed, for a few years, a very splendid triumph, the
system of the Realists began to revive ; and it was soon so com-
pletely reestablished in the adkoola, as to prevail, with little or
no opposition, till the fourteenth century. What the ciioum-

* " Langaage, like light, i9 a mediam : and the trae philosophical style,
like light from a north window, exhibits objects clearly and distinctly
wtthont soliciting attention to itself. In painting subjects of amus^aBent
indeed^ language may gild somewhat more^ and color with the dyes of
fancy ; but where information is of more importance than entertainment,
though yon cannot throw too strong a light, you should carefully avoid a
colored one. The style of some writers resembles a bright light placed. b&
tween the eye, and the thing to be looked at. The light show* itself mmi
hides thedi^k"<-Crt^.

ABSTBACTIOir. 118

stancefi were, wUdi led pbitoeophers to abandoQ a doctriney
which eeetns so strongly to recommend itself by its simplicity,
it is not very easy to conceiye. Probably the heretical opin-
ions, whidi had subjected both Abelard and BosceHnus to the
oensups of the Church, might create a prejudice also against
their philosophical principles ; and probably, too, the manner in
which these principled were stated and defended was not the
dearest, nor the most satisfactcH^y. The principal cause, how-
ever, I am disposed to think, of the decline of the sect of Nom-
inalists, was their want of some palpable example, by means of
which they might ilhistrate their doctrine. It is by the use
which a%c^raist» make of the letters of the alphabet in carry-
ing on their operations, that Leibnitz and Berkeley have been
aiost sacoessfbl in explaining the use of language as an instm-
meiit of ttiought t and, as in ^e twelfth century, the algebraic<J
art was entirely unknown, Roscelinus and Abelard must have
been reduced to the necessity of conveying their leading idea
by general circumlocutions ; and must have found considerable
dii&calty in stating it in a manner satisfactory to themselves ; A
consideration, which, if it accounts for the slow progress which
this doctrine made in the world, places in the more striking light
the genius of those men whose sagacity led them, under so
great disadvantages, to approach to a conclusion so just and
philosophical in itself, and so opposite to the prevailing opinions
of their age.

In the fourteenth century, this sect seems to have been
almost completely extinct ; their doctrine being equally repro*
bated by the two great parties which then divided the schools,
the followers of Duns Scotus and of Thomas Aquinas. These,
although they differed in their manner of explaining the nature
of universals, and opposed each other's opinions with much as«
perity, yet united in rejecting the doctrine of the Nominalists,
not only as absurd, but as leading to the most dangerous conse- ,
quences. At last, William Occam, a native of England, and a
scholar of Duns Scotus, revived the ancient controversy, and,
v?ith equal ability and success, vindicated the long<«bandoiied
phikMophy of Bosoelinus* From this time the disputii Was eaN

10*

114 ABBTRAOnON.

ried on with great wannth in the aniyenitieB of France, of G«r-
manj, and of England, more particalarlj in the two former coun-
tries, where the sovereigns were led, by some political views, to
interest themselves deeply in the contest, and even to employ
the civil. power in supporting their favorite opinions. The Em-
peror Lewis of Bavaria, in return for tJie assistance which, in
his disputes with the Pope, Occam had given to him by his
writings, sided with the Nominalists* Lewis the Eleventh of
France, on the other hand, attached himself to the Realists, and
made their antagonists the objects o£ a cruel persecution.

The dispute to which the foregoing observations relate, al-
though, for some time after the Reformation, interrupted by the-
ological disquisitions, has been since occasionally revived by
different writers, and, singular as it may appear, it has not yet
been brought to a conclusion in which all parties are agreed.
The names, indeed, of Nominalists and Realists exist no longer :
but the point in dispute between these two celebrated sects,
coincides precisely with a question which has been agitated in
our own times, and which has led to one of the most beautiful
speculations of modem philosophy

Doctrines and conclusions of the later NominaiUsts. — Of the
advocates who have appeared for the doctrine of the Nominal-
ists, since the revival of letters, the most distingubhed are
Hobbes, Berkeley, and Hume. The first has, in various parts
of his works, reprobated the hypothesis of the Realists, and
has stated the opinions of their antagonists with that acuteness,
simplicity, and precision, which distinguish all his writings.*

* « The nniyersality of one name to many things, hath been the canae
that men think the things themselves are nniversal ; and so seriously con-
tend, that, besides Peter and John, and all the rest of the men that are,
have been, or shall be, in the world, there is yet something else that we
call man, namely, Man in general ; deceiving themselves, by taking the
nniversal or general appellation for the thing it signifieth. For if one
should desire the painter to make him the picture of a many which is aa
much as to say, of a man in general^ he meaneth no more but that the
painter should choose what man he pleascth to draw, which must needs
be some of them that are, or have been, or may be : none of which are nni-
VttnL Bat ^hen we would \ ave him to draw the picture of the king; or

ABSTBACTIOir. lU

The second, considering (and, in my opinion, jnstly) die doc-
trines of the ancients concerning universals, in support of which
so much ingenuity had been employed by the Realists, as the
great source of mystery and error in the abstract sciences, was
at pains to oyerthrow it completely, by some very ingenious and
original speculations of his own. Mr. Hume's * view on the
subject, as he himself acknowledges, does not differ materially
from that of Berkeley ; whom, by the way, he seems to have
regarded as the author of an opinion, of which he was only an
expositor and defender, and which, since the days of Boscelinus
and Abelardy has been £Euniliarly known in all the universities
of Europe.

Notwithstanding, however, the great merit of these writers in
defending and illustrating the system of the Nominalists, none
of them seem to me to have been fully aware of the important
consequences to which it leads. The Abb^ de Gondillac was, I
believe, the first (if we except, perhaps, Leibnitz), who per<*
ceived that, if this system be true, a talent for reasoning miut
eamistj in a great measure, in a skilftd use of language as an
instrument of thought. The most valuable of his remarks on
tliis subject are contained in a treatise. On the Art of Thinking,
which forms the fourth volume of his ^ Course of Study.*'

any particular person, he limiteth the painter to that one person he choos*
eth. It is plain, therefore, that there is nothing univenal but names, which are
therefore called indefinite, because we limit them not ourselves, but leave
them to be applied by the hearer ; whereas a singular name is limited and
restrained to one of the many things it signifieth ; as when we say, this
man, pointing to him, or giving him his proper name, or by some such
other way." — Hobbes's Tripos, chap. v. sect 6.

* *' A very material question has been started concerning abstract or
general ideas, Whether they be general or particular in the mind's con-
ception of them ? A great philosopher has disputed the received opinion
in this particular ; and has asserted, that all general ideas are nothing but
particular ones annexed to a certain term, which gives them a more exten-
sive signification, and makes them recall, upon occasion, other individuals,
which are similar to them. As I look upon this to be one of the greatest
and most valuable discoveries that have been made of late years in the re
public of letters, I shall here endeavor to confirm it by some arguments,
whi^h I hope will put it beyond all doubt and controversy/' — TreatiMs of
Human Nature, Book i. part i. seot. 7.

lis ABSTRACnOir.

BefuMtum $/ Dr. Priest argumenU. — The explanatloi.
which the doctrines <^ these writers ^ord, of the process of tU
mind in general reasoning, is so simple, and at the same time,
in my apprehension, so satisfactory, that I own it is with some
degree of surprise I have read the attempts which have lately
heen made to revive the systems of the Realists. One of the
ablest of these attempts is by Dr. Price, who, in his very valua-
ble ^ Treatise on Morals," has not only employed his ingennitj
in support of some of the old tenets of the PlatcNuc school, but
has even gone so far as to follow Plato's example, in eoimeeting
this speculation about universals with the sublirae questions of
natural theology. The observations which he has oQered ia
support of these (pinions, I have repeatedly perused with all
the attention in my power, but without being able to enter mto
his views, or even to comprehend fully his meaning. Indeed, I
must acknowledge that it appears to me to afiwd no slight pre-
sumption against the principles on whidi he proceeds, when I
observe^ that an author, remarkable, on most occasions, for pre-
cision of ideas and for perspicuity of style, never fails to lose
himself in obscurity and mystery when he enters on these dis-
quisitions.

Dr. Price's reasonings in proof (^ the existence of uBiver-
sals, are the more curious, as he acquiesces in some of Dr.
Beid's conclusions with respect to the ideal the<»y ai perc^
tion. That there are, in the mind, images or resemblances of
things external, he grants to be impossible ; but still he seems
to suppose, that in every exertion of thought, there is something
immediately present to the mind^ which is the object of its atten-
tion. ^ When abstract truth is contemplated, is not," says he^
" the very object itself present to the mind ? When millions of
intellects contemplate the equality of eveiy angle in a semicircle'
to a right angle, have they not all the same object in view ? Is
this object nothing ? or is it only an image, or kind of shadow ?
These inquiries," he adds, " carry our thoughts high.* *

* The whole passage is as follows : " The word idea is s&metinies BS«d
te signify the immediatfi object of the mind in thinking, considered m

ABSTRACTION. 117

The diffisultj which has appeared so puzzling to this ingen-
ious writer, is, in truth, more apparent than real. In the case
of perception, imagination, and memory, it has been already
fully shown, that we have no reason to believe the existence of
any thing in the mind distinct from the mind itself; and that,
even upon the supposition that the ^eict were otherwise, our in-
tellectual operations would be just as inexplicable as they are
at present. Why then should we suppose, that in our general
speculations, there must exist in the mind some object of its
thoughts, when it appears that there is no evidence of the ex-
istence of any such object, even when the mind is employed
about individuals ?

How we reason ahotU classes of ohfects, — Still, however, it
may be urged, that although, in such cases, there should be no
object of thought in the mind, there must exist something or
other to which its attention is directed. To this dijfficulty I
have no answer to make, but by repeating the fact which I
have already endeavored to establish ; that there are only two
ways in which we can possibly speculate about classes of ob-
jects ; the one^ by means of a word or generic term ; the other,
hy means of one particular individual of the class which we con--
sider as the representative of the rest ; and that these two methods
of carrying on our general speculations, are at bottom so much the

something in the mind which represents the real object, but is different
from it. This sense of an idea is derived from the notion, that when we
think of any external existence, there .is something immediately present to
the mind, which it contemplates distinct from the object itself, that being
at a distance. But what is this ? It is bad language to call it an image
in the mind of the object Shall we say then, that there is indeed no Such
thing ? Bat would not this be the same as to say that, when the mind is
employed in viewing and examining any object, which is either not pres-
ent to it, or does not exist, it is employed in viewing and examining
nothing, and therefore does not then think at all ? When abstract truth is
contemplated, is not the very object itself present to the mind ? When
millions of intellects contemplate the equality of every angle in a semicir-
cle to a right angle, have they not all the same object in view 'i Is this
"^bject nothing ? or is it only an image, or kind of shadow 1 These inqiii«
ties carry our thoughts high.''

118 AB8TRA€TIOir.

, as la aiitk>ri2e us to hj d#wn as a pHncTpl^ Aal^ wKh«
eoi the use of signs, all our thoughts must have related to ib^
viduab. When we reason, therefore, eoncemmg classes or gen-
era, the ohjects of our attention are merely signs ; <Mr if, in any
instance, the generic word should recall some indiyidua!, this
circumetance is to he regarded only as the consequence of an
accidental association, which has rather a tendency to disturb,.
than to assist us in our reasoning.

Whether it might not have heen possible lor the Deily i»
have so fbrmed us, that we might have been eapal^e of reasos-
ing ooDceniing classes of objects, without the use of sigw^ 1
shall not take upon me to determine. But this we may remlme
to affirm with confidence, that man is not su^ a being. And.
indeed, eyeii if he were, it would not. theref<H« necessarfly Ibl*
low, that thei'e exists any thing in a genus, cRstinet from the
mdiTKluak of which it is conq^osed ; , fer we know that the
power which we have of thinking ef particular objeets withoot
the medium of signs, does not in the least d^end on tibeir ex
istence or non-existence at the moment we think of them»

It would be vain, however, for us, in inquiries of this nature^
to indulge ourselves in speculating about possibilities. It is oi
more eonsequence to remark the advantages which we derive
from our actual constitution, and which, in the present ktstaooe,
appear to rae to be important and admirable ; inasmuch as. it
fits mankind for an easy interchange of their intellectual acqui-
aitions» by imposing on them ike necesaUn of emphtfing^ in tkeia
9oUi€ury sptouladonsy the uume imtrumeni of thoughb^ toAtiai
fbtvM the ettabUshed medium of their eommunicaiiims' with eaek
other,*

* [See note to page 77.

It miMt be admitted, that, in other passages- of hi» philosophlcat writ*
higs, Stewart does not seem to be always mindAil of the dootrine wisidi bs
has here labored to establish. Take the following, for instance, ftom ** Note
Q" to the First Part of his Dissertation on the Progress of Metaphysical
Kiilosophy. In answer to a remaiic by Bonnet^ that privation of one oft the
wnst^s entails a loss of all the ideas usually obtained through, tha^ sense, he
■ays., ** The question is not about our ideas of the material worlds hafet i

AmfruAcnam. lit

wlikh I have giyen of the eonlroTerij between the NomiiialiM

diose ideas on mOaph^cail end mmxd nilijectg, trbidi HAj be equally ii*«
parted to the blind and the deaf; enabling Ibem %o arrire at a kaowkdga
of the some troths, and exciting in their minde the same iBoral emotiofiia^
The Migm cmpioyed in the reasonings of these two elasses of persolM wfll
•f coarse excite by associatiow, is their respectxre fi»des, veiy diAffeot
maieriai imaffe»; bat whence the origin of the metaphysical and moral no*
tions of wUcb these signs aie the yehidey and fov snggesting whicby aU sett
of signs 8«em to be eqnally fitted ? "

What aw tfaeso ^'noiwm," enpmsi^ feienredy not to MHtteiial^ bnt t#
■eta^hyskad or notal, objects, wUcb an hsie eleaily disitognished ftntt
llM <'s»^/'o*]lien words, tlMl «e nastf t» indkalSF them? JLssitriel
Henihwliity and yet as » Tigosons opponent of phyosi0i|Adcal rtwptidsni,
Stewart woald bare found it difflcnlt to answer tiiis fttestioik In tnth^
when we speak of coas^ timty tfoee, mbgkmei,tfUs^m»9m9 bat a skeptie can
■MmtfBB that either nMie;wa«d^ or spedfi« matsvnd thi^gf^aro Aie ol^
jeds e# ewr dfeooghlsw

On tho other side, wo present an estsaetfson the argnawnt of Bisfaof
Berkeley, who kF among the nbtait and mmt ^oHriatent of tks modem

*'lt is tkonght diat every mum Bntb^ or oogkt to kai^ ooo only preekt
and settled significatiGn, whkh iiidinssnMm to think thai there are certaki
Ob&irtKl determimas Hem, wMdi eoostitHte Ike ttao and only irnmedntt
rignifienikinofeadigeiiaratnama; aadtkatitisbytbrmedSEitionof tkeso
nbstnet ideas,, that a gen»fal name CMnes to signify any partienfanr tkiag;
Whereas, in troth, thin k m sndk Mtgf M das ^rwwe a^ ekjkdte tiffmjitiih
iSMi (umeased l» mnf ^tmnA name, iicy att sonifying indi£fei«ndy a ^swot
mmtber&frMMfticviAim idea§, ^ ^ ^ ^ Vathitf kwlil be ofc^cted, AateTeiy
same Aa« has a definition,. Is tbtfi^ resoniaed to oos eovtain s%»liks»
tioa. Vor eamnifiis,. n trfcingie is defined to be ^a pkdn smrfttce eompn^
kendod by Aieo right knen/ Tonrtifek t fliswor,^ that ki^ the defintk^n it
in not said whether tho satflH^ be gi«at of sntait^ black i3ir wkite, nor
jirtietber the sideB are long or sbon^ oqiial 6r nneiqfaal, nor wkii what an*
gles tkey are fnekoed to each ocksr t-^in all which thers amy be great va*
riety, and conseqnently them Is no sue settled idea-whieh Iknics the sign^
eation of the word trimgU, It is ewe thing to keep a mme eoMstantfy to
the same defimtion^ and another to^ nMke it stand ererywheve for tho sbamt
idsa ; Ae one is neoessary, lie other aseiess and impraetieablB^

'^Bnt to ghm a fkrfiMr aeeonat bow wonds oaao to^prndnoe Oit dtfUrkie
«f absttnet idini,it mast botfbsorvod ihM it l»ii nwnifedi opiido%*a« kao^
t hati BO other pad kt tko enmmiMficfttkig «ir iJeas^aad tSmtofi^

ISO ABSTBAOTIOV.

and the BealisU aboat the exutenoe of nniyenals, I have taken
no notice of the intennediate sect called Conoeptoalists ; whose

signiftcant name stands for an idea. This being so, and it being witfaal
certain that names, which yet are not thought altogether insignificant, do
not always mark out particalar conceivable ideas, it is straightway con-
duded that they stand for abstract notions. That there are many names
in ose amongst specnlattve men, which do not always suggest to othen
determinate particular ideas, is what nobody will deny. And a littie atten-
tion will discover, that it is not necessary (even in the strictest reasonings)
significant names which stand for ideas should, every time they are used,
excite in the understanding die ideas they are made to stand for ; in read-
ing and discoursing, names being, for the most part, used as letters are in
algebra, in which, though a particular quantity be marked by each letter,
yet, to proceed rig^t, it is not requisite that in every step each letter suggest
to your thoughts that particular quantity it was appointed to stand for.

'' Besides, the communicating of ideas marked by words is not the chief
and only end of language, as is commonly supposed. There are other
ends, as the raising of some passion, the exciting to or deteiring from an
action, the putting the mind in some particular disposition, to which the
former is in many cases barely subservient, and sometimes entirely omit*
ted, when these can be obtained without it, as I think doth not nnfre-
qnently happen in the familiar use of language. I entreat the reader to
reflect with himself, and see if it doth not often happen, either in hearing
or reading a discourse, that the passions of fear, love, hatred, admiration,
disdain, and the like, arise immediately in his mind upon the perception of
certain words, without any ideas coming between. At first, indeed, the
words might have occasioned ideas that were fit to produce those emo-
tions ; but if I mistake not, it will be found that when language haa once
grown fiimiliar, the hearing of the sounds or sight of the characters is oft
immediately attended with diose passions, which at first were wont to be
produced by the intervention of ideas that are now quite omitted. May
we not, for example, be affected with the promise of a good thing, thou^
we have not an idea of what it is 9 Or is not the being threatened with
danger sufficient to excite a dread, though we think not of any particular
evil likely to befiedl us, nor yet frame to ourselves an abstract 1 If any one
shall join ever so little refiectton of his own to what has been said, I be-
lieve it will evidently appear to him, that general names are often used in
the propriety of language without the speaker's designing them for marks
of ideas of his own, which he would have them raise in the mind of the
hearer. Even proper names themselves do not seem always spoken with
a design to bring into our view the ideas of those individuals that are sup-
posed to be mark^i by them. For example, when a schoolman tells me

ABSTRACTIOir. 181

digttngiiisliing tenet is said to have been, that die mind has a
power of forming general conceptions. From the indistinctness
and inaccuracy of their language on the subject, it is not a very
easy matter to ascertain precisely what was their opinion on the
point in question ; but on the whole, I am inclined to think that
it amounted to the two following propositions : firsts that we
have no reason to believe the existence of any essences, or uni«
versal ideas, corresponding to general terms ; and secondfy, that
the mind has the power of reasoning concerning genera or
classes of iudividuals, withaut the medioHon of language. In-
deed, I cannot think of any other hypothesis which it is possible
to form on the subject, distinct from those of the two celebrated
sects afaready mentioned. In denying the existence of univer
sals, we know that the Conceptualists agreed with the Nominal-
ists. In what, then, can we suppose that they differed from
them, but about the necessity of language as an instrument of
thought, in carrying on onr general speculations ? *

AristoUe hath said it, all I conceive he means by it, is, to dispose me to em-
brace his opinion with the deference and submission which custom has
annexed to that name." — Introduction to the Principles ofHunum Knowt"
edge, §§ xviii-xx.

* [It is hardly fair to charge the doctrine of the Conceptualists with
o&scunty or indefinitenesa, whatever may be thought of its foundation in
truth. Its meaning is obvious enough. Whenever we use a general term,
as animal, house, triangle, the Conceptualists maintain that onr object of
thought is something moire definite than a mere word, but less definite than
such a precise idea as we have of a particular house or triangle ; — it must be
thus less definite, inasmuch as it is equally applicable to any house or
triangle whatsoever, be it large or small — black, white, or green. They
affirm, that this object of thought is a conception of such properties only as are
oommon to all triangles, or to all houses. Such a conception, they say, is
possible ; it is merely a partial consideration of an object. Thus, I may
think of a three-sided Jigure simply, without considering what it is made of,
or whether it be large or small. On the other hand, the Nominalists main-
tain that I cannot think an object, without thereby imaging it to the faxxcy,
and thus individualizing it, or rendering it particular instead of general.

Perhaps both parties are right. Some general ideas, (those, namely, of
a low order of generalization,) may be thought of, without the aid of words.
Thus, I may have a very clear conception of a ydlow globe, six inekm m

11

Ift AB«mACTioir«

WHb tiik teci iif CoBcei^tMlifte, Dr. Beid iftdiBpoirt
Mr. Locke ^ and I agree wUb him so far as to ihmky that^ if
Lodce had anj decided c^iiiioii on the point in dispote, it did
not differ materiaUj from what I have endeavored to ezpfea*
in the two general propositions which I have just now stated*
The apparent inconsistencies which occur in that part of his
Essay in which the questi<m is discussed, have led sabseqaeal
authors to represent his sentiments in different lights; hat as
these inconsistencies phiinlj ^low, that he was n^hev satisfied
with the system of the Realists^ nor with that of the N<Miu&a^
istSy thej iq[»pear to me to demonstraiey that he leaned to tha
hfttermediate hypothesis already mentioaedy noiwithstaiiding
the maccnrate and paradoxieal manner i» which he has «&•
pvessedit

J)r. JBeid*$ ^fimm &n IkU $mbf€€L^MMj I take the hheHf
of adding, that Dr. Reid's own epinioB seemato me ake to eeia*
cide nearly with that c^ the Cene^aaliBts ; c«V at least, to ceio*
cide with the two propositions which I have already supposed'

diamekr, without thiaking of it » haid or §eii, bot or «old, hoftvy or Uf^
Of as mado of plaster^ iron, wood^ pMtebowd, iadiar>nibbtr» or aay odMt
material. So, also, I may think of a star, without thinking of aaj partis-
alMr star, as Sirim or Arctanui. Oa the other hand, it seema veiy obvioas
that general terms ^ a venf high order of fmuvUxaJ^im, sock as iUm§9 «^f<«i^
pn$teiple, etc., eaanot have aay object of thought; eorrupcMMling to- tfien ex-
eept mere words ; and the only wtnf to apprehend the meaning of sach
wofdft i» to eall ap in the mind one or m<Nfe individualt of the dass denoted
by them, and» in the consideratioa of tfaoso individtt<d», to limit our attan-
tion as fkr as possible to those (|naUtieB only which they poesess in CMa*
mon with their class. Tha Nominalista and Conceptualists would difi^
fiom each other only in determinittg the point on the scale of i^eneraUfli^
tion at which the power of forming general conceptions ends, and the no-
oessity of using words begins ; or, what ia the same thing, in determinng
what,, and how many, qualitiea may be abstracted, before the genend idea
evanesces into a mere wiord. If all men were oi the- same site sad eomp
. |4exion, I could certainly form the general conception of a man, Bui ii
is still disputed whether color or size can be abstracted fnom any clara of
material objects witboat destroying the general eonceptiott of tiiat elnss
It aj^ars eertaia that wacaa form a dialiiict- conception of bmndtiltn 1
«friag^m«try4

l» eoalAhk a smmnairj of tbefr doelriiie ? The al^iirtlitj of t&«
ancient c^piiiion coneeming uniyersals, as mamtained bolh bj
Plato and Aristotle, he has exposed bj the clearest and most
decisire arguments ; not to mention, that, bj his own very <»*igi-
inal and important speculations concerning the ideal theory, he
has c<»npletely destroyed that natural prejudice from which the
whole system of universal ideas gradually to<^ rise. If, even
in the case of individuals, we have no reason to believe the ex-
istence of any object of thought in the mind, distinct from the
nund itself, we are at once relieved from all the difficulties in
which philosophers have Involved themse^es, by attempting^ ta
eExplam, in consistency wkh t&af ancient hypothesis, the process
cf the mind in its general speculations.

On the other hand, it is no less clefn", from Dr. Ileid*s criti*
dsm9 on Berkeley and Hume, that his opkiibn does not coincide
with that of the Nominalists ; and ihstt the power which the
mind possesses of reasoning concerning classes of objects, ap-
pears to him to imply some faculty, of which no notice is tsken
M the systems of these philosophers.

In order to justify his own expressions concerning uniTersals,
fltnd in opposition to the language of Berkeley and Hume, Dr.
Beid is at pains to illustrate a distinction between conceptiov
and ima^nadon, which, he thinks, has not been sufleientiy
attended to by philosophers. "A universal,'*' says he, ''is not
im object of any external sense, and therefore cannot be tmoj^r .
ined;^ but it may be distinctly conceived. When Mr. Pope says,
*The proper study of mankind is man,' I conceive his meaning
distinctly ; although I neither imagine a bhick or a white, a
crooked or a straight man. I can conceive a thing that is impo«-
siblte ; but I cannot distinctly imagine a thing that is impossible ;
I can conceive a proposition or a demonstration, but I cannot
imagine either. I can conceive understanding and will, virtue
and vice, and other attributes of the mind ; but I cannot imagine
tiiem. In like manner, I can distinctly conceive universals ; bu<
I cannot imagine them."

It appears from this" passage, that, hg conceiving univerm^y
Dr. Beid means nothing more than understanding the meaning

124 ABSTBAOTIOll.

9f propoiiiums invohnng gtneral (ermi. But die observatioiM
he has made, (admitting them in their full extent,) do not in the
least affect the question about the necessity of signs, to enable
US to speculate about such propositions. The vague use which
metaphysical writers have made of the word conception^ (of
which I had occasion to take notice in a former chapter,) has
contributed in part to embarrass this subject That we cannot
conceive universals in a way at all analogous to that in which
we conceive an absent object of sense, is granted on both sides.
Why then should we employ the same word, conception^ to ex
press two operations of the mind which are essentially different?
When we speak of conceiving or underttanding a general propo-
sition, we mean nothing more than that we have a convicticm,
(founded on our previous use of the words in which it is ex-
pressed,) that we have it in our power, at pleasure, to tubstitute^
imteeul of the general terms, some one of the individuah compre^
hended under them. When we hear a proposition announced,
of which the terms are not familiar to us, we naturally desire to
have it exemplified, or illustrated, by means of some particular
instance ; and when we are once satisfied by such an applica-
tion, that we have the interpretation of the proposition at all
times in our power, we make no scruple to say, that we con-
ceive or understand its meaning, although we should not extend
our views beyond the words in which it is announced, or even
although no particular exemplification of it should occur to us at
the moment. It is iu this sense only, that the terms of any gen-
eral proposition can possibly be understood ; and therefore Dr.
Beid's argument does not, in the least, invalidate the doctrine
of the Nominalists, that, without the use of language, (uuder
which term I comprehend every species of signs,) we should
never have been able to extend our speculations beyond indi-
viduals.

That iu many cases, we may safely employ in our njtsonings
general tenns, the meaning of which we are not eveu able to
interpret in this way, and consequently, which are to .is wholly
insignificant, I had ofxsasion already to demonstrate, 11 a former
part of this section.

ABSTBAOTiair. 135

IT. ImfnrmeeB with retpeet to the use oflixnguage as an instrit^
ment of thau^, and the errors in reasoning to which it oeea*
sicnaJ^ gives rise. — In the last section, I mentioned Dr. Camp-
bell as an ingenious defender of the system of the Nominalists ;
and I alluded to a particular application which he has made of
their doctrine. The reasonings which I had then in view, are
to be found in the seventh chapter of the second book of his
Philosophy of Rhetoric ; in which chapter, he proposes to ex-
plain how it happens, ^ that ncmsense so often escapes being de-
tected, both by the writer and the reader.'* The dtle is some-
what ludicrous in a grave and philosophical work ; but the dis-
quisition to which it is prefixed contains many acute and pro-
tbund remarks on the nature and power <^ signs, both as a me-
dium of communication, and as an instrument of thou^t

Dr. Campbell's speculations with respect to language as an
instrument of thought, seem to have been suggested by the ^-
lowing passage in Mr. Hume's Treatise of Human Nature. ^ I
believe, every one who examines the situation of his mind in
reasoning will agree with me, that we do not annex di^inct and
complete ideas to every term we make use of; and that in talk-
ing of government^ churehy negotiation, eonqitesiy we seldom
spread out in our minds all the simple ideas of which these
complex ones are composed. It is, however, observable^ that
notwithstanding this imperfection, we may avoid talking non-
sense on these subjects; and may perceive any repugnance
among the ideas, as well as if we had a luU comprehension of
them. Thus if, instead of saying, that, in war, the weaker have
always recourse to negotiaticnj we should say, that they have
always recourse to conquest ; the custom which we have ac-
quired, of attributing certain relations to ideas, still follows &e
words, and makes us immediately perceive the absurdity of that
pn^osition."

How we can use words with propriety, though without attach^
ing amy particular idea or signification to them, — In the re-
marks which Dr. Campbell has made on this passage, he has
endeavored to explain in what manner our habits of thinking

11*

126 ABSTBAOTIOK*

and speaking gradually establish in the mind sach relationi
among the words we employ, as enable us to carry on processes
of reasoning by means of them, without attending in every in-
stance to their particular signification. With most of his re-
marks on this subject I perfectly agree ; but the illustrations he
gives of them, are of too great extent to be introduced here ;
and I would not wish to run the risk of impairing their perspi-
cuity, by attempting to abridge them. I must, therefore, refer
such of my readers as wish to prosecute the speculation, to his
very ingenious and philosophical treatise.

^ In consequence of these circumstances," says Dr. Campbell,
^it happens that, in matters which are perfectly familiar to us,
we are able to reason by means of words, without examining,
in every instance, their signification. Almost all the possible
applications of the terms (in other words, all the acquired rela-
tions of the signs,) have become customary to us. The conse-
quence is, that an unusual application of any term is instanHy
detected; this detection breeds doubt, and this doubt occasions
an immediate recourse to ideas. The recourse of the mind,
when in any degree puzzled with the signs, to the knowledge it
has of the things signified, is natural, and of such subjects per-
fectly easy. And on this recourse, the discovery of the mean-
ing, or of the unmeaningness, of what is said, is the immediate
effect But in matters that are by no means familiar, or are
treated in an uncommon manner, and in such as are of an ab«
struse and intricate nature, the case is widely different The
instances in which we are chiefly liable to be imposed on by
words without meaning are, (according to Dr. Campbell,) the
three following : —

Firsts Where there is an exuberance of metaphor.

Secondly^ When the terms most frequently occurring denote
things which are of a complicated nature, and to which the
mind is not sufficiently familiarized. Such are the words, gcv'
emment^ churchy state, constitution^ polity^ power, commerce,
legislature, jurisdiction, proportion^ symmetry, elegance.

Thirdly, When the terms employed are very abstrcLctj and

ABSTRACTION. 127

eonseqaendy of very eoOermve stffnificattotu* For an illustra-
tion of these remarkS) I must refer the reader to the ingenious
work which I just now quoted.

To the observations of these eminent writers, I shall take
the liberty of adding, that we are doubly liable to the mistakes
they mention, when we make use of a language which is not
perfectly familiar to us. Nothing, indeed, I apprehend, can
show more clearly the use we make of words in reasoning than
this, that an observation which, when expressed in our own
language, seems' trite or frivolous, often acquires the appear-
ance of depth and originality, by being translated into another.
For my own part, at least, I am conscious of having been
frequently led, in this way, to form an exaggerated idea of the
merits of ancient and of foreign authors ; and it has happened
to me more than once, that a sentence, which seemed at first to
contain something highly ingenious and profound, when trans-
lated into words familiar to me, appeared obviously to be a trite
or a nugatory proposition.

The effect produced by an artificial and inverted style in our
own language, is similar to what we experience when we read
a composition in a foreign one. The eye is too much dazzled
to see distinctly.

The deranged collocation of the words in Latin composition,
aids powerfully the imposition we have now been considering,
and renders that language an inconvenient medium of philo-
sophical communication, as well as an inconvenient instrument
of accurate thought Indeed, in all languages in which thia^

* '' The more general any word is in its signification, it is the more lia»
ble to be abused by an improper and unmeaning application. A yery gen-
eral term is applicable alike to a multitude of different indiridnals, a par-
ticular term is applicable but to a few. When the rightful applications of
a word are extremely numerous, they cannot all be so strongly fixed by
habit, but, that, for greater security, we must perpetually recur in our
minds from the sign to the notion we have of the thing signified ; and, for
the reason aforementioned, it is in such instances difficult precisely to as-
certain this notion. Thus, the latitude of a word, though different from
tea ambiguity, hath often a similar effect" — Philosophy of Bhetoric, voL
IL p. 122.

138 ABSTSAOnOK*

latitude in the arrangement of words is admitted, tlie )
tions among words must be looser than where one inTariabk
order is followed ; and of consequence, on the principles of
Hume and Campbell, the mistakes which are committed in
reasonings expressed in such languages will not be so readilj
detected.

Language$^ being canirotted bjf popular use, are not adapM foir
eeieniifie purposes, -— The errors in reasoning to which we are
exposed, in consequence of the use of words as an inaArament
of thought, will appear the less surprinng^ when we consider
that all the languages which have hitherto existed in the worid^
have derived their origin from popular use ; and tltat their ap«
plication to philosophical purposes was altogether out of the
Tiew of those men who first employed them. Whether it Bsigl^
not be possible to invent a language which would at onoe &eili<*
tate philosophical comnumication, and form a more eonvenieiit
instrument of reasoning and of invention than those we possess
at present, is a question of very difficult discussion, and upon
which I shall not presume to offer an opini<«« The fiiilure of
Wilkins's very ingenious attempt towards a real character and a
philosophical language, is not perhaps decisive against muek a
project ; for not to mention some radical defects in his plan, the
yiews of that very eminent philo6q)h^ do not seem to have ex-
tended much further than to promote and extend the literaiy
intercourse among different nations^ Leibnitz, so &r as I know,
is the only author who has hitherto concaved the possibility i£
aiding the powers of invention and of reasoning, by the use of a
more convenient instrument of thought: but he has nowhere
explained his ideas cm this rery interesting subject* It is only
from .a conversation of his with Mr« Boyle and Mr. Oldenburgfa,
when he was in England, in 1673, and from some imperfect
hints in different parts of his works, that we find it had engaged
• his attention. In the coarse of this conversation, he observed,
that Wilkins had mistaken the true end of a real charoit^er,
which was not merely to enable different nations to correspond
easily together, but to assist the reason^ the invention^ and ih$
memory. In his writings, too, he somewhere speaks of an atpLar

ABSTRACTION. 129

bet of human thougbtd, which he had been employed in form-
ing, and which, probably, (as Fontenelle has remarked,) had
some rehition to his universal language.

The new nomenclature which has been introduced into chem-
istry, seems to me to furnish a striking illustration of the effect
of appropriate and well defined expressions, in aiding the intel-
leictual powers; and the period is probably not far distant,
when similar innovations will be attempted in some of the other
sciences*

Y* Of the pwrpou9 to which the powers of Ahstradion and
Geiuralixatiom ore mifemtfii^.—- It has been already shown,
that, without the use of signs, all our knowledge must necessa*
rily hav« been limited to individuals, and that we should have
been perfedly inei^Ue both of classification and general rea-
soning. S(Mne authors have mainttdned, that without the power
of generalisation, (which, I have endeavored to show, means
nothing more than the capacity of employing general terms,) it
woald have been impossible for us to have carried on any spe-
cies of reasoning whatever. But I cannot help thinking that
this opinion is erroneous ; or, at least, that it is very imperfectly
stated. The truth is, it appears to me to be just in one sense
of the word reasoning, but false in another ; and I even suspect
it is Mse in that sense of the word in which it is most commonly
employed. Before, therefore, it is laid down as a general propo-
sition, the meaning we are to annex to this very vague and am-
biguous term, should be ascertained with precision.

One kind of reasofdng ca» be carried on without genendizch
Honj and without Umgwxge* — It has been remarked by several
writers, that Ae expectation which we feel of the continuance of
Ac laws of nature^ is not founded upon reasoning ; and different
theories have of late been proposed to account for its origin.
Mr. Hume resolves it into the association of ideas. Dr. Reid,
on the other hand, maintains, that it is an original principle of
our constitution, which does not admit of any explanatimi ; and
which, therefore, is to be ranked among those general and ulti-
mate facts, beyond which philosophy is unable to proceed.
Witiiout this priitciple of expectation, it would be impossibia

ISO ABSTBA (TIOW.

for US to accommodate our conduct to the established course cf
nature ; anil, accordingly, we find that it is a principle coeral
with our yerj existence, and, in some measure, common to man
with the lower animals.

It is an obvious consequence of this doctrine, that, although
philosophers be accustomed to state what are commonly called
the laws of nature in the form of general propositions, it is bj
no means necessary for the practical purposes of life, that we
should express them in this manner, or even that we should ex-
press them in words at alL The philosopher, for example, may
state it as a law of nature, that ^ fire scorches ;" or that ^ heavy
bodies, when unsupported, fall downwards ;" but long before
the use of artificial signs, and even before the dawn of reason,
a child learns to act upon both of these suppositions. In doing
so, it is influenced merely by the instinctive principle which has
now been mentioned, directed in its operation (as is the case
with many other instincts) by the experience of the individuaL
If man, therefore, had been destined for no other purposes than
to acquire such an acquaintance with the course of nature as is
necessary for the preservation of his animal existence, be
might have fulfilled all the ends of his being without the use of
language.

As we are enabled, by our instinctive anticipation of physical
events, to accommodate our conduct to what we foresee is to
happen, so we are enabled, in many cases, to increase our pow-
er, by employing physical causes as instruments for the accom-
plishment of our purposes ; nay, we can employ a series of such
causes, so as to accomplish very remote effects. We can em-
ploy the agency of air, to increase the heat of a furnace ; the
furnace, to render iron malleable ; and the iron, to all the various
purposes of the mechanical arts. Now it appears to me, that
all this may be conceived and done without the aid of language ;
and yet, assuredly, to discover a series of means subservient to
a particular end, or, in other words, an effort of mechanical in-
vention, implies, according to the common doctrines of philoso-
phers, the exercise of our reasoning powers. In this sense,
therefore, of the Mord reasoning, I am inclined to think, that it

▲BSTRACTIOK. 181

18 not e-ssentially connected with the facultj of generalizalion, or
with the use of signs.

It is some confirmation of this conclusion^ that savages, whose
minds are almost wholly occupied with particulars, and who
have neither inclination nor capacity for general speculations,
are yet occasionally observed to employ a long train of means
for accomplishing a particular purpose. Even something of
this kind, but in a very inferior degree, may, I think, be re-
marked in the other animals ; and that they do not carry it fur-
ther, is probably not the effect of their want of generalization,
but of the imperfection of some of those faculties which are com-
mon to them with our species ; particularly of their powers of
attenticm and recollection. The instances which are commonly
produced, to prove that they are not destitute of the power of
reasoning, are all examples of that species of contrivance which
has been mentioned ; and are perfectly distinct from those intel-
lectual processes to which the use of signs is essentially subser-
vient.*

As a further confirmation of the same doctrine, it may be re-
marked, that there is no class of speculative men who are in

* One of the best attested instances which I hare met with, of sagacity
in the lower animals, is mentioned by M. Bailly, in his '' Lettre snr lea
Animaux/' addressed to M. Le Roy : ^

[" One of my friends, an intelligent and trustworthy man, related to me
two fects of which he was an eye-witness. He had a very sagacious mon-
key, and was wont to amuse himself by giving it nuts, which it was very
fond of; but he placed ihem so far off, that the monkey, being held back
by its chain, could not reach them. After many unsuccessful efforts,
which served only to sharpen its invention, the monkey, seeing a servant
pass by with a napkin under his arm, caught the napkin from him, and
made use of it to brush the nut within reach. The mode of cracking the
nnt required a new invention ; the monkey succeeded by placing the nut
on the ground, and letting a stone &11 on it from above, so as to break it.
Yon see. Sir, that without knowing as well as Galileo the laws of failing
bodies, the monkey had observed the force which these bodies acquire by
falling. But it once happened that this expedient failed. One rainy day,
the ground was soft, and the nut sunk into it without breaking. What did
the monkey do ? He found a piece of tile, on which ho placed the p^t,
■nd then the fall of the stone broke it, without driving it into the groaod."

I8t AB8TRA0TIOH.

general 00 much at a loss to oonyej their ideas armen of ne*
chanical inyention. This, I think, can only arise frcMn thek
being accustomed to direct their attention immediaidy to the
subjects <3i their consideration, without the use of signs. Phi
losophers who speculate on questions which require the emploj-
ment of words as an instrument of thought, are seldom deficient
in a facility of expression*

Whether that particukr species of mechanical contrivance
which has now been mentioned, and which consists merely ui
employing a series of physical causes to accomplish an effect
which we cannot produce inmiediately, should or should not be
dignified with the name of reasoning, I shall not now inquire* It
is sufficient for my present purpose to remark, that it is essen-
tially difierent from those intellectual processes to which the use
of signs is indispensably necessaiy. At the same time, I am
ready to acknowledge, that what I have now said, is not strictly
applicable to those more complicated mechanical inventions, in
which a variety of powers are made to conspire at once to pro*
duce a particular effect. Such contrivances, perhaps, may be
found to involve processes of the mind which cannot be carried
on without signs. But these questions will fall more properly
under our consideration when we enter on the subject of rea-
M»ning.

When words are necessary to thcmght, — In general, it may be
remarked, that in so far as our thoughts relate merely to indi-
vidual objects, or to individual events, which we have actually

( W« need Hot qnestion the good fiiith of the reporter of this anecdote.
The only doubt is, whether the animal had not previously, without his
knowledge, been taught how to use these expedients.)]

But admitting the facts to be accurately stated, they will still leave an
essential distinction between man and brutes ; for in none of the contri-
vances here mentioned, is there any thing analogous to those intellectual
processes which lead the mind to general conclusions, and which (accord-
ing to the foregoing doctrine) imply the use of general terms. Thosa
powers, therefore, which enable us to classify objects, and to emplojr signs
as an instrument of thought, arc, as iar as we can judge, pecaliar to thci hiK-
man iqpecies.

▲BSTBACTION. 188

perceived, and of which we retain a distinct remembrance,*
we are not under Ahe necessity of employing words. It fre-
quently, however, happens, that when the subjects of our con-
sideration are particular, our reasoning with respect to them
may involve very general notions ; and, in such cases, although
we may conceive, without the use of words, the things about
which we reason, yet we must necessarily have recourse to lan-
guage in carrying on our speculations concerning them. If the
subjects of our reasonings be general, (under which description
I include all our reasonings, whether more or less comprehen-
sive, which do not relate merely to individuals,) words are the
sole objects about which our thoughts are employed. According
as these words are comprehensive or limited in their signification,
the conclusions we form will be more or less general ; but this
accidental circumstance does not in the least afiect the nature of
the intellectual process ; so that it may be laid down as a propo-
sition which holds without any exception, that in every case in
which we extend our speculations beyond individuals, language
is not only a useful auxiliary, but is the sole instrument by
which they are carried on.

Difference between the speculations of the philosopher and of the

* I have thought it proper to add this limitation of the general propo-
sition, because individual objects, and individual events, which have not
fallen under the examination of our senses, cannot possibly be made the
subject of our consideration but by means of language. The manner in
which we think of such objects and events, is accurately described in the
following passage of WoUaston ; however unphilosophical the conclusion
may be which he deduces from his reasoning.

" A man is not known ever the more to posterity, because his name is
transmitted to them ; he doth not live, because his name does. When it
is said, Julius Csesar subdued Gaul, beat Fompey, changed the common-
wealth into a monarchy, etc., it is the same thing as to say the conqueror
of Pompey was Csesar ; that is, Caesar, and the conqueror of Fompey, are
the same thing ; and Caesar is as much known by the one distinction as
the other. The amount is only this : that the conqueror of Fompey con-
quered Pompey ; or somebody conquered Pompey ; or rather, since Fom-
pey is' as little known now as Caesar, somebody conquered somebody.
Such a poor business is this boasted immortality ; and such, as has been
here described, is the thing called glory among ua ! "

12

184 ABSTBACTIOir.

* -

vulgar. — These remarks naturally lead me to take notice of what
forms the characteristical distinction between the speculations
of the philosopher and of the vulgar. It is not, that the former
is accustomed to cany on his processes of reasoning to a greater
extent than the latter ; but that the conclusions he is accustomed
to form, are far more comprehensive, in consequence of the
habitual employment of more comprehensive terms. Among
the most unenlightened of mankind, we often meet with indi-
viduals who possess the reasoning faculty in a very eminent
degree ; but as this faculty is employed merely about particulars,
it never can conduct them to general . truths ; and, of conse-
quence^ whether their pursuits in life lead them to speculation
or to action, it can only fit them for distinguishing themselves
in some very limited and subordinate sphere. The philosopher^
whose mind has been familiarized by education, and by his own
reflections, to the correct use of more comprehensive terms, is
enabled^ without perhaps a greater degree of intellectual exer-
tion than is necessary for managing the details of ordinarj
business, to arrive at general theorems ; which, when illustrated
to the lower classes of men, in their particular applications,
seem to indicate a fertility of invention little short of supers
natural.*

^ The analogy of the algebraical art may be of use in illus
, trating these observations. The difference, in fact^ between
the investigations we carry on by its assistance, and other pro-
cesses of reasoning, is more inconsiderable than is commonly
imagined ; and, if I am not mistaken, amounts only to this, that

* *' General reasonings seem intricate merely because they are general;
. nor is it easy for the bulk of mankind to distinguish, in a great number of
, particulars, that common circumstance in which they all agree, or to ex-
J tract it pure and unmixt, from the other superfluous circumstances. Every

Judgment or conclusion with them is particular. They cannot enlaiige

their view to those universal propositions, which comprehend under them
.an infinite number of individuals, and include a whole science in a single
, theorem. Their eye is confounded with such an extensive prospect ; and

the conclusions derived from it, even though clearly expressed, seem intri

•ate and obscure." — Hume's PoUticai Discourses.

•tire ftmi^^r are expressed ib an appropriated hmgaa^, witii
nrhicli We ^e not 'aeimstomed to associate paiticalar notions.
'Heniee th^j exhibit the efficacy of signs as an instmoieiit of

* thought in a more <£stinCt and jilalpaUe manner, than 'the
specalatiods we car^ on bj 'words, whic^ are oonidniiallj
'awakening the power 6f ' conceptfoa.

"When the celebrated Vieta showed a^braists, that, by sob-
' stitntifig in ' their iilvestigations letters' of' the alphabet, instead
of knd^m quahtities, they might render the solution 6f evcfy
probletn sirbservient to the ^seovery of a general truth, he did
not increase the difficulty of algebraical reasonings: he only
enlarge the signification of the terms of which they were ex-
^pressed. And ii, In teaching that science, it is found expedient
'toacenstom students to solve problems by means of the par-*
ticular numbers which are given, before they are made ac-
' quainted with literal or specious arithmetic, it is not because
' the former processes are less intricate than the latter, but be-
cause their scope and utility are more obvious, and because it
is more easy to illustrate, by example than by words, the diffid-
ence between a particular conclusion and a general theorem.

The difference between the intellectual processes of the
Tulgar atid of the philosopher, is perfectly analogous to that be-

* tween the two states of the algebraical att before and after the
' time of Vieta ; the general terms which are used in the various

sciences, giving to those Who can employ them with correctness
and dexterity, the same sort of advantage over the uncultivated
' sagacity of the bulk of mankind, which the 'expert algebraist
possesses over the arithmetical accountant.

Th&iitility of hnguage.^-M the foregoing doctrine be ad-
mitted ^s just, it e3chibits*a view of the utility of language,
which appears to me tobe peculiarly striking and beautiful ; as
it shows that the same faculties which, without the use of signs,
must necessarily have been fimited to the consideration of indi-
vidual objects and particular events, are, by means of signs,
fitted to embrace, without effort, those comprehensive theorems,
to the discovery of which, in detail, tiie united efforts of the
wliole htimail race^ Wouldhave- t^en tmeQtiaL The advamage

186 ABSTRACTION.

our animal strengtb acquires bj the use of mechanical enginei)
exhibits but a funt image of that increase of our intellectoal
capacity which we owe to language. It is this increase of oar
natural powers of comprehension, which seems to be the prin-
cipal foundation of the pleasure we receive from the disooveiy
of general theorems. Such a discovery gives us at once the
command of an infinite variety of particular truths, and com-
municates to the mind a sentiment of its own power, not unlike
to what we feel when we contemplate the magnitude of those
physical effects, of which we have acquired the command bj
our mechanical contrivances.

It may perhaps appear, at first, to be a further consequence
of the principles I have been endeavoring to establish, that the
difficulty of philosophical discoveries is much less than is com-
monly imagined ; but the truth is, it only follows from them,
that this difficulty is of a different nature from what we are apt
to suppose, on a superficial view of the subject To emplof)
with skill, the very delicate instrument which nature has made
essentially subservient to general reasoning, and to guard
against the errors which result from an injudicious use of it,
require an uncommon capacity of patient attention, and a
cautious circumspection in conducting our various intellectaal
processes, which can only be acquired by early habits of philo-
sophical reflection. To assist and direct us in making this ac-
quisition ought to form the most important branch of a rational
logic ; a science of far more extensive utility, and of which the
principles lie much deeper in the philosophy of the human
mind, than the trifling art which is commonly dignified with
that name. The branch in particular to which the foregoing
observations more immediately relate, must for ever renuun in
its infancy, till a most difficult and important desideratum in
the history of the mind is supplied, by an explanation of the
gradual steps by which it acquires the use of the various classes
of words which compose the language of a cultivated and en-
lightened people. Of some of the errors of reasoning to which
we are exposed by an incautious use of words, I took notice in
the preceiling section ; and I shall have occasion afterwards to

ABSTBAOnOK. 187

treat the same subject more in detail in a subsequent pan ol
mj work.

YL Of the errors to which we are liable in specidatian, ana
in the conduct of (xffairSj in consequence of a rash calico*
tion of general principles. — It appears sufficiently from the
reasonings which I offered in the preceding section, how im-
portant are the advantages which the philosopher acquires, by
quitting the study of particulars, and directing his attention to
general principles. I flatter myself it appears further, from
the same reasonings, that it is in consequence of the use of
language alone that the human mind is rendered capable of
these comprehensive speculations.

In order, however, to proceed with safety in the use of gen-
eral principles, much caution and address are necessary, both in
establishing their truth, and in applying them to practice.
Without a proper attention to the circumstances by which their
application to particular cases must be modified, they will be a
perpetual source of mistake and of disappointment, in the con-
duct of affairs, however rigidly just they may be in themselves,
and however accurately we may reason from them. If our
general principles happen to be false, they will involve us in
errors, not only of conduct but of speculation ; and our errors
will be the more numerous, the more comprehensive the prin*
ciples are on which we proceed.

To illustrate these observations fully, would lead to a minute-
ness of disquisition inconsistent with my general plan : and I
shall therefore, at present, confine myself to such remarks as
appear to be of most essential importance.

Mistakes of the ancients respecting the study of universal, -^
And, in the first place, it is evidently impossible to establish
solid general principles, without the previous study of particu-
lars : in other words, it is necessary to begin with the examin-
ation of individual objects, and individual events, in* order to
lay a groundwork for accurate classification, and for a just in-
vestigation of the laws of nature. It is in this way only that
we can expect to arrive at general principles, which may be
safely relied on, as guides to the knowledge of particular truths

12*

fits AJMfnuioncab

$ni mdfstr onr pmeipl6s.ad«dt<>f wcb.a.priwticiil: iip|jhMilii>%
however beautiful thej maj appear to be in theory, thej are oC-
fiur leas value than the limited acquisitions of: the vnlgwv The
truth of these remarks is now so universallj admitted, and is
indeed so obyious in itself that it would be superfluous to multi-
plj words in supporting them ; and I should acaro^^ haya.
thought of stating them in this chapteri if some, of; the. mo9t(
celebrated philosophers of antiquity had not beenledto dispute,
them, in consequence, of the mistaken opinions, which, tbej
entertained' concerning the nature, of universahu Foig^ting
that ffenera^tokd species are mere arbitrary creations, wbipb. the.
human mind forms by withdrawing the attention, fera^. the dis?
tinguishing qualities of objects, and giving a. commop; name to
their resembling qualities, they conceive umnerscfh to» be. mal)
eaciitenceif or (as they expressed it) to be. ^. euenogUi ot iodi;*
viduals ; and flattered themselves with the belief thalt by; dinee^
ing their attention to. these essences in the ficst instance^ th^y*
mtg^t be enabled to penetrate the secrets. of the uniisense, with-,
out submitting to the study of nature in detalL These ooror%
which were common to the Platonists and the Peripatetios, aodt
which both of them seem to have adopted fn>m the Fytfaagocean^
school, contributed^ perhaps more than any thing else, to setord
the ^x)gres8 of the ancients in physical knowledge^ The> lato'
learned Mr. Harris is almost the only author of lihe ^*eseiM^
1^ who has ventured ta defend this plan of philosopbiaing^ in
opposition to that which has been so success£ally $>llawed byii
the disciples of Lord Bacon.

^ The Platonists," says he, " considering science asi something
ascertained, definite, and steady^ would admit nothings to b^ its
object which was vague, indefinite, and passing. For this rea*
son, they excluded all individuals or objects oi sease^ and (as
Amonius expresses it) raised themselves in their contemplationa
from beings particular to beings universal, and which, from their
own nature, were eternal and definite." ^ Consonant tp thia
was the advice of Plato, with respect to the progresa of oiu
speculations and inquiries to descend from those higher genera,
which include mjBOij subordinate spedes, 4<^vi^ ta tha Iqweai

ABSTBACTION. 189

rank; of^pecies, tl^ose which include only individuals* But here
it was bis opinion, that our inquiries should stop, and, as to indi-
viduals, let them wholly alone ; because of these there could not
possibly be any science."

^ Such," continues this author, " was the method of ancient
philosophy. The fashion, at present, appears to be somewhat"
altered, and the business of philosophers to be little else than
the collecting from every quarter, into voluminous records, an
infinite number of sensible, particular, and unconnected facts,
the chief effect of which is to excite our admiration." Jn
another part of his works, the same author observes, that ^^ the
mind, truly wise, quitting the study of particulars, as 'knowing
their multitude to be infinite and incomprehensible, turns its
intellectusd eye to what is general and comprehensive, and^
through generals, learns to see and recognize whatever exists."

1£ we abstract from these obvious errors of the ancient phi-
losophers, with respect to the proper order to be observed in
our inquiries, and only suppose them to end where the Platon-
ists said, that they should begin, the magnificent encomiums
they bestowed on the utility of those comprehensive truths
which form the object of science, (making allowance for the
obscure and mysterious terms in which they expressed them,)'
can scarcely be regarded as extravagant It is probable that,
from a few accidental instances of successful investigation, they
had been struck with the wonderful efiect of general principles
in increasing the intellectual power of the human mind ; and^
misled by that impatience in the study of particulars, which is
so often connected with the consciousness of superior ability/
they labored to persuade themselves, that, by a life devoted to
abstract meditation, such principles might be rendered as imme-
diate objects of intellectual perception, as the individuals which
compose the material world are of our external senses. By
connecting this opinion with their other doctrines concerning
universals, they were unfortunately enabled to exhibit it in so
mysterious a form, as not only to impose on themselves, but to
perplex the understanding of all the learned in Europe for a
long succession of ages.

140 ABSTRACTION.

The progress of human knowledge from particulars to i
sals. — The conclusion to which we are led bj the foregoing
observations is, that the foundation of all human knowledge
must be laid in the examination of particular objects and par-
ticular &cts ; and that it is onty as far as our general principles
are resolvable into these primary elements, that thej possess
either trith or utility. It must not, however, be understood to
be implied in this conclusion, that all our knowledge must ulti-
mately rest on our own proper experience. If this were the
case, the progress of science, and the progress of human im-
provement, must have been wonderfully retarded; for, if it had
been necessary for each individual to form a classification of
objects, in consequence of observations and abstractions of his
own, and to infer from the actual examination of particular
facts, the general truths on which his conduct proceeds ; human
affairs would at this day remain nearly in the same state to
which they were brought by the experience of the first genera-
tion. In fact, this is very nearly the situation of the species in
all those parts of the world, in which the existence of the race
depends on the separate efforts which each individual makes, in
procuring for himself the necessaries of life ; and in which, of
consequence, the habits and acquirements of each individual
must be the result of his own personal experience. In a culti-
vated society, one of the first acquisitions which children noake,
is the use of language ; by which means they are familiarized,
from their earliest years, to the consideration of classes of ob-
jects, and of general truths ; and before that time of life at
which the savage is possessed of the knowledge necessary for
his own preservation, are enabled to appropriate to themselves
the accumulated discoveries of ages.

Notwithstanding, however, the stationary condition in which
the race must, of necessity, continue, prior to the separation of
arts and professions, the natural disposition of the mind to
ascend from particular truths to general conclusions, could not
fail to lead individuals, even in the rudest state of society, to
collect the results of their experience, for their own instruction
and that of others. But, without the use of general terms, the

▲B8TBACTI0N. 141

mHj possible way of communicating such condnsionsy would be
by means of some particular example, of which the general ap-
plication was striking and obvious. In other words, the wisdom
of such ages will necessarily be expressed in the form of fables
or parables, or in the still simpler form of proverbial instances ;
and not in the scientific form of general maxims. In this way,
undoubtedly, much useful instruction, both of a prudential and
moral kind, might be conveyed : at the same time, it is obvious,
that while general truths continue to be expressed merely by
particular exemplifications, they would afford little or no oppor-
tunity to one generation to improve on the speculations of
another ; as no effort of the understanding could combine them
together, or employ them as premises, in order to obtain other
conclusions more remote and comprehensive. For this purpose,
it is absolutely necessary, that the scope or moral of the fable
should be separated entirely from its accessory circumstances,
and stated in the form of a general proposition.

Probable inteOeetual improvement of. future ages. — From
what has now been said, it appears how much the progress of
human reason, which necessarily accompanies the progress of
society, is owing to the introduction of general terms, and to the
use of general propositions. In consequence of the gradual im-
provements which take place in language as an instrument of
thought, the classifications both of things and &cts, with which
the infant faculties of each successive race are conversant, are
more just and more comprehensive than those of their prede-
cessors : the discoveries which, ip one age, were confined to the
studious and enlightened few, becoming in the next the estab-
lished creed of the learned ; and in the third, forming part of
the elementary principles of education. Indeed, among those
' who enjoy the advantages of early instruction, some of the most
remote and wonderful conclusions of the human intellect are,
even in infancy, as completely familiarized to the mind, as the
most obvious phenomena which the material world exhibits to
their senses.

If these remarks be just, they open an unbounded prospect
cf intellectual improvement to ftiture ages ; as they pomt out a

148 ABSTKAOTIOV.

proTisioa auide b j nature to faeUitate and abridge, mure ml
more, the process of study, in proportion as the truths to be
acquired increase in number. Nor is this prospect derived
from theory alone. It is encouraged by the past history of all
the sciences ; in a more particular manner, by that of mathe^
matics and physics, in which the state of discovery, and the
prevailing methods of instruction, may, at all times, be easily
-compared together. In this last observation I have been an-
ticipated by a late eminent mathematician, whose eloquent and
philosophical statement of the argument cannot fail to carry
conviction to those who are qualified to judge of the facts on
which his conclusion is founded.

^ To such of my readers as may be slow in admitting the
possibility of this progressive unprovement in the human raoe,
allow me to state, as an example, the history of that scieDce in
which the advances of discovery are the most certain, and in
which they may be measured with the greatest precision, Thcfie
elementary truths of geometry and of astronomy, which, in
India and Egypt, formed an occult science, upon which an am*
bitious priesthood founded its influence, were become, in times
of Archimedes and Hipparchus, the subjects of common edu-
cation in the public schools of Greece. In the last century, a
few years of study were sufficient for comprehending all that
Archimedes and Hipparchus knew ; and, at present, two yewrs
employed under an able teacher, carry the student beyond
those conclusions which limited the inquiries of Leibnitz aad
of Nevrton. Let any person reflect on these facta, let him
follow the immense chain which connects the inquiries of £uler
with those of a priest of Memphis ; let him observe at each
epoch, how genius outstrips the present age, and how it is over-
taken by mediocrity in the next; he will perceive, that nature
has furnished us with the means of abridging and facilitatii^
our intellectual labor, and that there is no reason for apprehend-
ing that such simplifications can ever have an end* He will
perceive, that at the moment when a multitude of partieidar
solutions, and of insulated &ctSy begin to distract, the attention,
and to overcharge the memory, the former gradually bae tbeap.*

▲BSTRikCTION. 14S

flelves in one general method, and the hitter unite in one general
law: and that these generalizations continuallj succeeding one
to another, like the successive multiplications of a number by
itself, have no other limit, than that infinitj which the human
faculties are unable to comprehend."

YII. Differeneet in the intdiedual characters of individuals
arising from their different habits of abstraction and general'
usalion. — In mentioning as one of the principal effects of civile
isation, its tendency to familiarize the mind to general terms
and to general propositions, I did not mean to say, that this
influence esctends equally to all the classes of men in society.
On the contrary, it is evidently confined, in a great measure, to
those who receive a liberal educaticMi; while the minds of the
lower orders, like those of savages, are so habitually occupied
about particular objects and particular events, that, although
they are sometimes led from imitation, to employ general ex*
pressions, the use which they make of them is much more the
result of memory than judgment ; and it is but seldom that they
are able to comprehend fully any process of reasoning in which
they are involved.

It is hardly necessary for me to remark, that this observation
with respect to the inci^acity of the vulgar for general specn«
laiions, (like all observations of a shnilar nature,) must be re*
ceived with some restrictiotts. In such a state of society at
that in which we live, there is hardly any individual to be found
to whom some general terms, and some general truths, are not
perfectly familiar ; and, therefore, the foregoing conclusions are
to be considered as descriptive of those habits of thonglit akme,
which are most prevalent in their mind. To abric^ the labov
isi reasoning and of memory, by directing the attention to
general principles, instead of particular truths, is the professed
aim of all philosophy ; and according as individuals have more
or less of the philo8<^hic spirit, their habitual speculations
(whatever the nature of their pursuits may be) wiU relate to
Uie former, or to the latter, of these objects.

Th^ differtnees between praetieal wten and phSosophert.^^
There are» therefore^ among the men who are accustomed to the

144 ABSTBAGTIOV.

exercise of their intellectual powers, two classes, whose habits
of thought are remarkablj distinguished from each other ; the
one ckss comprehending what we commonfy call men of hui'
nesSj or, more properly, men of detail; the other, men of oi-
siraetion ; or, in other words, philoeophers.

The advantages which, in certain respects, the latter of these
possess over the former, have been already pointed out ; but it
must not be supposed, that these advantages are always pur-
chased without some inconvenience. As the solidly of our
general principles depends <m the accuracy of the particular
observations into which they are ultimately resolvable, so their
utility is to be estimated by the practical applications of which
they admit ; aad it unfortunately happens, that the same turn of
mind which iefofoorMe to phtlosophieal pursuitSj unless it be
kept under proper regulation, is extremely apt to disquaUfy us
for applying our knowledge to usSy in the exercise of the arts and
in the conduct of affairs.

The demger of allying ahsfy'act principles ineauUoudy. — In
order to perceive the truth of these remarks, it is ahnost suf-
ficient to recollect, that as classifications, and, of consequence,
general reasoning, presupposes the exercise of abstraction ; a
natural disposition to indulge in them, cannot fail to lead the
mind to overlook the specific differences of things f in attending
to their common qualities. To succeed, however, in practice, a
familiar* and circumstantial acquaintance with the particular
objects which fall under our observation, is indispensably neces-
sary.

But further : As all general principles are founded on classi-
fications which imply the exercise of abstraction, it is neces-
sary to regard them, in their practical applications, merely as
approximations to the truth; the defects of which must be sup-
plied by habits acquired by personal experience. In consider-
ing, fi>r example, the theory of the mechanical powers ; it is
usual to simplify the objects of our conception, by abstracting
from friction, and from the weight of the different parts of
which they are composed. Levers are considered as mathe-
matical lines, perfectly infiezible; and ropes, as mathematical

▲BSTTIACTIOK. 145

lines, perfectly flexible ; — and by means of tbese, and similar
abslauctions, a subject, which is in itself extremely complicated,
is brought within the reach of elementary geometry. In the
iheoiy of politics, we find it necessary to abstract from many
of the peculiarities which distinguish different forms of govem-
ment irom each other, and to reduce them to certain general
classes, according to their prevailing tendency. Although all
the governments we have ever seen, have had more or less of
mixture in their composition, we reason concerning pure mon-
archies, pure aristocracies, and pure democracies, as if there
really existed political establishments corresponding to our defi-
nitions. Without such a classification, it would be impossible
for us to fix our attention, amidst the multiplicity of particulars
which the subject presents to us, or to arrive at any general
principles, which might serve to guide our inquiries in com-
paring different institutions together.

It is for a simOar reason, that the speculative farmer reduces
the infinite variety of soils to a few general descriptions ; the
physician, the infinite variety of bodily constitutions to a few
temperaments ; and the moralist, the infinite variety of human
characters to a few of the ruling principles of action.

Notwithstanding, however, the obvious advantages we derive
from these classifications, and the general conclusions to which
they lead, it is evidentiy impossible that principles, which de-
rived their origin from efforts of abstraction, should apply liter-
ally to practice; or, indeed, that they should afford us any
considerable assistance in conduct, without a certain degree of
practical and experimental skill Hence it is, that the mere
theorist so frequenUy exposes himself, in real life, to the ridicule
of men whom he despises, and, in the general estimation of the
world, falls below the level of the common drudges in business
and the arts. The walk, indeed, of these unenlightened prac-
titioners, must necessarily be limited by their accidental oppor-
tunities of experience ; but, so far as they go, they operate
with fi&cility and success, while the merely speculative philos-
opher, although possessed of principles which enable him to
approximate to the truth in an infinite variety of untried cases,

18

146 ▲BtTRACnOV.

and alfthoagh he tees with pity the naivow views ef the imiiti-
tude, and the ludicrouB pretensions with which they firequentlj
cp^poBO their trifling successes to his theoretical specolations,
finds himself perfectly at a loss when he is called upon, hy the
simplest occorrences of ordinary life, to carry his principles
faito execation. Hence the origin of thai maxim ^ which/' as
Hume remarks, ^ has heen so indostriously propagated hy the
dunces of every age, that a man of genius is unfit for husiness."

What praeUeal skill coHiutiitu-^Jja what consists practical
or experimental skill, it is not easy to explain completely;
but among other things, it obviously implies a talent £oat minute
and comprehensive and rapid observation ; a maoxxj at ones
retentive and ready, in order to present to us aoeuraialyy and
without reflection, our theoretical knowledge; a presence of
mind not to be disconcerted by unexpected occurrences, and, in
some cases, an uncommon degree of perfection in the external
senses, and in the mechanical capacities of the body* All these
elements of practical skill,' it is obvious, are to be acquired only
by habits of active exertion, and by a fanuliar acquaintance
with real occurrences ; for as all the practical principles of our
nature, both intellectual and animal, have a reference to pap*
ticulars, and not to generals, so it is in the active scenes of life
alone, and amidst the details of business, that they can be oolti*
vated and improved.

JBxpmeuce ondpraeHcai skill not suffhisni/or cM ccoatuMM. «-
The remarks which have been already made are sufficient to
illustrate the impossibility of acquiring talent for business, or
for any of the practical arts of life, without actual experieaoe.
They show, also, that mere experience, without theory, may
qualify a man, in certain cases, for distinguishing himself in
in both. It is not, however, to be imagined tfaat^ in this way,
individuals are to be formed for the uncommon, or for the im~
portant situations of society, or even for enriching tte arts by
new inventions ; for as their address and dexterity are founded
entirely on imitation, or derived from the lesaoas which expert*
ence has suggested to them, they cannot possibly extend to new
oomb'natiQns of circumstances. Mere experience, therefore^

AB8TBA0TIO1V. 147

ean, At best, prepare the mind for the subordinate departments
of life, for conducting the established routine of business, or for
a servile repetition in the arts of common operations.

In the character of Mr. George Grenville, which Mr. Burke
introduced in his celebrated speech on American Taxation, a
lively picture is drawn of the insufficiency of mere experience
to qualify a man for new and untried situations in the admin is«
tration of government. The observations he makes on this
subject are expressed with his usual beauty and felicity of lan«
guage, and are of so general a nature, that, with some trifling
alterations, they may be extended to all the practical pursuits
of life.

^ Mr. Grenville was bred to the law, which is, in my opinion,
one of the finest and noblest of human sciences ; a science
which does more to quicken and invigorate the understanding,
tlian all the other kinds of learning put together ; but it is not
apt, except in persons very happdy bom, to open and to liberal-
ii:e the mind exactly in the same proportion. Passing from
that study, he did not. go very largely into the world, but
plunged into business, I mean into the business of office, and
the limited and fixed methods and forms ei^tablished tliere.
Much knowledge is to be had, undoubtedly, in that line, and
there is no knowledge which is not valuable^ But it may be
truly said, that men too much conversant in office are rarely
minds oi remarkable enlargement. Their habits of office are
apt to give them a turn to think the substance of business not
to be much more important than the forms in which it is con*
duoted. These fbrms are adapted to ordinary occasions ; and,
therefore, persons who are nurtured in office do admirably well,
as long as thin^ go on in their common order ; but when the
liigh roads are broken up and the waters out, when a new and
troubled scene is opened, and the file affi>rd8 no precedent, then
it is, that a greater knowledge of mankind, and a far more ex-
tensive comprehension of things is requisite, than ever office
gave, or than office can ever give.**

Nor is it in new combinations of circumstances alone, that
general principle) assist us in the conduct of affiiirs; they

148 ABBTBACTlOir.

render the application of our practical skill more unerring aiid
more perfect For as general principles limit the utility of
practical skill to supply the imperfections of theory, thej
diminish the number of cases in which this skill is to be em-
ployed, and thus at once &cilitate its improvement wherever it
is requisite, and lessen the errors to which it is liable, by con-
tracting the field within which it is possible to commit them.

It would appear, then, that there are two opposite extremes
into which men are apt to fall, in preparing themselves for the
duties of active life. The one rises from habits of abstraction and
generalization carried to an excess ; the other, from a minute,
an exclusive, and an unenlightened attention to the objects and
events which happen to fall under their actual experience.

A good education would guard against both extremes. — In a
perfect system of education, care should be taken to guard
against both extremes, and to unite habits of abstraction with
habits of business, in such a manner as to enable men to con-
sider things either in general, or in detail, as the occasion may
require. Whichever of these habits may happen to gain an
undue ascendant over the mind, it will necessarily produce a
character limited in its powers, and fitted only for particular
exertions. Hence some of the apparent inconsistencies which
we may frequently remark in the intellectual capacities of the
same person. One man, from an early indulgence in abstract
speculation, possesses a knowledge of general principles, and a
talent for general reasoning, united with a fluency and eloquence
in the use of general terms, which seem, to the vulgar, to an-
nounce abilities fitted for any given situation in life ; while, in
the conduct of the simplest affisdrs, he exhibits every mark of
irresolution and incapacity. Another not only acts with pro
priety and skill in circumstances which require a minute at-
tention to details, but possesses an acuteness of reasoning, and
a facility of expression on all subjects, in which nothing but
what is particular is involved ; while on general topics, he is
perfectiy unable either to reason or to judge. It is this last
turn of mind, which I think we have, in most instances, in
view, when we speak of good sense^ or comn»on sense^ in oppo-

ABSTBACTION. 149 '

ntion to science and philosophy. Both philoeoplij aad g6od
flense implj the exercise of our reasoning powers ; and thej
differ from each other only according as these powers are ap-
plied to particulars or to generals. It is on good sense (in the
acceptation in which I haye now explained the term), that the
success of men in the inferior walks of life chiefly depends ;
but, that it does not always indicate capacity for abstract science
or for general speculation, or for able conduct in situations
which require comprehensive yiews, is matter even of vulgar
remark.

Natural superiority of the men of general views. — Although,
howeyer, each of these defects has a tendency to limit the
utility of the individuals in whom it is to be found, to certain
stations in society ; no comparison can be made, in point of
original yalue, between the inteUeotual capacities of the two
classes of men to which they characteristically belong. The
one is the defect of a yigorous, an ambitious, and a compre-
hensiye genius, improperly directed ; the other, of an under-
standing minute and circumscribed in its yiews, timid in its ex-
ertions, and formed for seryile imitation. Nor is the former
defect, (howeyer difficult it may be to remove it when confirmed
by long habit,) by any means so incurable as the latter; for it
arises, not from original constitution, but from some fault in
early education ; while every tendency to the opposite extreme
is more or less characteristical of a mind, useful, indeed, in a
high degree, when confined to its proper sphere, but destined,
by the hand that formed it, to borrow its lights from another.

As an additional proof of the natural superiority which men
of general views possess over the common drudges in business,
it may be further observed, that the habits of inattention inci-
dent to the former arise in part from the little interest which
they take in particular objects and particular occurrences, and
are not whblly to be ascribed to an incapacity of attention.
When the mind has been long accustomed to the consideration
of classes of objects and of comprehensive theorems, it cannot,
without some degree of effort, descend to that hmnble walk of
experience, or of action, in which the meanest of mankind are

13 ♦

ISO^ THE A880CI1.TION OF IDEAS.

on aleTjd.wiih the greatest In important sitciatiqina) accord-
inglj, men of the most general views are found^ npt to he in-
ferior to the vulgar in their attention to details ; because the
objects and occurrences which such situations present, rouse
their passions, and interest their curiosity, frpm the magnitude
of the consequences to which thej lead.

When theoretical knowledge and practical skill are happOj
combined in the same person, the intellectual power of man
appears in its full perfection ; and fits him equally to conduct,
with a masterly hand, the details of ordinary business, and^ to
contend successfully with the untried difficulties of new and
hazardous sitpations. In conducting the former^ mere e:q>eri-
ence may frequently be a sufficient guidp ; but experience and.
speculation must he combined together to prepare us for the
latter. << Expert men,**, says Lord Bacon, ^can, execute and.
judge of particulars one by one; but the general counsels, and.
the plots, and the marshalling of affairs, come best fix>m those
that are l^amedf"

CHAPTER V.

OF THE ASSOCIATION OF IDEAS,

The subject on which I am now to enter, naturally divides
itself into Two Parts. The First relates to the influence of
Association in regulatinjg the succession of our thoughts ; the
Second, to its influence on the intellectual powers, and on the
moral character, by the more intimate and indissoluble combi-
nations which it leads us to form in infancy and in early youth.
The two Inquiries, indeed, run into each other ; but it will con-
tribute much to the order of our speculations, to keep the foi-e-
going arrangement i^ view.

T^ A8^00IA;riON^ OF IP^AB« 151

PART L

OF Tp]& INFLUENCE OF ASSOCIATION IN REGULATING THE
SUCCEB8JON OF OUR THQUC^HTS.

§ I. General Observations on this Part of our Constitution,
and on the Language of Philosophers with respect to it — That
one thought is often suggested to the mind by another; and
that the sight of an external object often recalls former occur-
rences, and revives former feelings, are facts, which are per-
fectly faxniUar, even to those who are the least disposed to
speculate concerning the principles of their nature. In passing
along,aro^d which w,e have fprmerljr travelled in the company
of a friqod,the jjarticulars of the conversation in which we were
then eng^ed, are frequently suggested to us by the objects we.
m^Q(i with* Jfi such a scene, wq recollect that a particular
sujbjeqt w^, started ; and in passing the different houses, and
pjanta^opa, and rivers, the arguments we were discussing when
we last saw them, recur spontaneously to the memory. The
conne<;ti<Hi V^iich is fprmed in the mind between the words of a
language a^d the. ide^ they dei^ote ; the connection which is
fopned between, tlje different words of a discourse we have
committed to memory ; the connection betweei) the different
notes of a piece of music in the mind, of the musician, are all
obvious i^st^inces of the same general law of our nature.

Xhe influ,en9e pf perceptible objects in reviving former
tl^oughts apd fprmer feelings, is more particularly remarkable,
^fter time^ has, in some degree, reconciled us to the death of a^
frieDi4>. 1?PW wonderfully are we affected the first time we enter
the bpu^e where he lived. Every thing we see ; the apartment
w^here he studied ; the chair upon which he sat, recall to us the
happiness we have enjoyed together ; and we should feel it a
sort 9f yiolatipn of that respect we owe to his memory, to engage
in any light or indifferent discourse when such objects are
before v^s* In tl^e cas^, too, of those remarl^able scenes which
igLtcircst ^e curiosity, from the memorable persons or traa;sac-

152 THE ASSOCIATION OF IDEAS.

tions whicli we have been accustomed to connect with them in
the course of our studies, the fancy is more awakened by the
actual perception of the scene itself, than by the mere concep-
tion or imagination of it Hence the pleasure we enjoy in
visiting classical ground; in beholding the retreats which in-
spired the genius of our favorite authors, or the fields which
have been dignified by exertions of heroic virtue. How feeble
are the emotions produced by the liveliest conception of modem
Italy, to what the poet felt, when, amidst the ruins of Borne,

" He drew th' inspiring breath of ancient arts,
—— And trod the sacred wltlks
Where, at each step, imagination boms 1 "

The well-known effect of a particular tune on Swiss regi
ments, when at a distance from home, furnishes a very striking
illustration of the peculiar power of a perception, or of an
impression an the senses^ to awaken associated thoughts and
feelings ; and numberless facts of a similar nature must have
occurred to every person of moderate sensibility, in the course
of his own experience.

"Whilst we were at dinner,*' says Captain King, **in this
miserable hut, on the banks of the river Awatska, the guests
of a people with whose existence we had before been scarce ac-
quainted, and at the extremity of the habitable globe ; a solitaiy,
half-worn pewter spoon, whose shape was familiar to us, attracted
our attention; and, on examination, we found it stamped on
the back with the word London, I cannot pass over this cir-
cumstance in silence, out of gratitude for the . many pleasant
thoughts, the anxious hopes, and tender remembrances, it
excited in us. Those who have experienced the effects that
long absence, and extreme distance from their native country,
produce on the mind, will readily conceive the pleasure such
a trifling incident can give."

The difference between the effect of a perception and an
idea, in awakening associated thoughts and feelings, is finely
described in the introduction to the fifth book De Finihus.

" We agreed," says Cicero, " that we should take our after^

THE ASSOCIATION OF IDEAS. 153

noon's walk in the academy, as at that time of the day it was a
place where there was no resort of company. Accordingly, at
the hour appointed, we went to Piso's. We passed the time in
conversing on different matters during our short walk from the
double gate, till we came to the academy, that justly celebrated
spot, which, as we wished, we found a perfect solitude. I
know not," said Piso, ^ whether it be a natural feeling, or an
illusion of the imagination founded on habit, that we are more
powerfully affected by the sight of those places which have
been much frequented by illustrious men, than when we either
listen to the recital, or read the detail, of their great actions.
At this moment, I feel strongly that emotion which I speak of.
I see before me the perfect form of Plato, who was wont to
dispute in this very place ; these gardens not only recall him to
my memory, but present his very person to my senses. I
fancy to myself, that here stood Speusippus, there Xenocrates,
and here, on this bench, sat his disciple Polemo. To me, our
ancient senate-house seems peopled with the like visionary
forms ; for, often, when I enter it, the shades of Scipio, of Cato^
and of Laelius, and, in particular, of my venerable grandfather,
rise to my imagination. In short, such is the effect of local situ-
ation in recalling associated ideas to the mind, that it is not
without reason, some philosophers have founded on this prin-
ciple a species of artificial memory."

This influence of perceptible objects, in awakening associated
thoughts and associated feelings, seems to arise, in a great meas-
ure, from their permanent operation as exciting or suggesting
causes. When a train of thought takes its rise from an idea oi
conception, the first idea soon disappears, and a series of others
succeeds, which are gradually less and less related to that with
which the train commenced : but in the case of perception, the
exciting cause remains steadily before us ; and all the thoughts
and feelings which have any relation to it, crowd into the mind
in rapid succession ; strengthening each other's effects, and all
conspiring in the same general impression.

Common maxims of conduct founded on the association of
ideas. -^ I have already observed, that the connections which

'IM THE A80OOf4TIOK OV IDSA8.

exist among oar thoaghtSj have been long fiuniKarlj known to
the vulgar as well as to pbilosophenu It is, indeed, only of
late that we have been possessed of an appropriated phrase to
express them ; bat that the general fact is not a recent dis-
coyerf , maj be inferred from many of the oomtnon maxims of
prudence and of proprietj, whidi haye plainly been suggested
by an attention to this part Of oar constitution. "Wlien we lay
it down, for example, as a general rule, to avoid in conversatkfa
all expressions, and idl topics of discourse, which have any re-
lation, however remote, to ideas Of an unpleasant ni^nre, we
plainly proceed on the supposition that there are eertam con-
nections among our thoughts, which haVe an' influence over the
order of their succession. It is unnecessary to remark, how
much of the comfort and'good*humor of social life depends on
'an attention to this consideration. Such attentions are more
particularly essential in our intercourse with men of the world;
for the conmieree of society has a wonderful effect in increasing
the quickness and the facility with which we associate all ideas
which have any* reference to life and maniiers ;* and, of conse-
quence, it must render the sensibility alive to manj eirenm-
stances which, from the remoteness of their relation to the sita-
ation iuid history of the parties, would otherwffle have passed
unnoticed.

When an idea, howeverj is thus suggested by association, it

^ produces a slighter impression, or, at least, it produces its im-

' pression more gradually, than if it were presented more directly

and immediately to the mind. And hence, when we are under

a necessity of communicating any disagreeable in^mation to

another, delicacy leads us, instead of meiftionk^ the thing itself,

♦ The superiority which the man oif the world pos^sses* over ttie reddse
student, in his knowledge of mankind, is partly the result of this qniek-
ness and facility of association. Those trifling circumstances in conTe^
sation and behayior, which, to the latter, convey only their most obvious
and avowed meaning, lay open to the former many of the trains of
ikought which are connected with them, and frequently give him a dis^^
view of a character, on that very side where it is supposed to be most cob*
ceated from his observation.

THE ASSOCIATION OF IDEAS. 1^55

to mention something else from which our meaning 'may be
understood. In this manner^ we prepare our hearers for &e
unwelcome intelligence.

The distinction between gross and delicate flattery is founded
upon the same principle. As nothing is more offensiye than
flattery which is direct and pointed, praise is considered as
happy and elegant in proportion to the slightness of the associa-
tions by which it is conveyed.

Ol^ecHani to the phrase, associatian of ideas. — To this ten-
dency which one thought has to introduce another, philoso-
phers have given the name of the Association of Ideas; and
as I would not wish, excepting in case of necessity, to depart
from common language, or to expose myself to the charge of
delivering old doctrines in a new form, I shall continue to make
use of the same expression. I am sensible, indeed, that the
expression is by no means unexceptionable ; and that, if it be
used, as it frequently has been, to comprehend those laws by
which the succession of all our thoughts and of all our mental
operations is regulated, the word idea must be understood in a
sense much more extensive than it is commonly employed in.
It is very justly remarked by Dr. Reid, that " memory, judg^
ment, reasoning, passions, affections, and purposes ; in a word,
every operation of the mind, excepting those of sense, is ex-
cited occasionally in the train of our thoughts ; so that, if we
make the train of our thoughts to be only a train of ideas, the
word idea must be understood to denote all these operations."
In continuing, therefore, to employ, upon this subject, that lan-
guage which has been consecrated by the practice of our best
philosophical writers in England, I would not be understood
to dispute the advantages wtiich might be derived from the
introduction of a new phrase, more precise and more* applicable
to the fact*

* [Instead of the common phrase, asaoctation of ideas, Dr. Thomas
Brown prefers, for reasons which he has stated with great acateness, the
simple term, suggestion. After remarking, as Eeid and Stewart had done
before him, that not only ideas, but emotions, purposes, jadgments, and all

156 THB ASSOCIATION OF IDXAS.

ITte rdations of hahit to the anociation of %dea». — The
ingeniouB author whom I last quoted, seems to think that the
Msociaiion of ideas has no claim to be considered as an original
principle, or as an ultimate fact in our nature. ^ I belicTe," says
he, ^ that the original principles of the mind, of which we can
give no account, but that such is our constitution, are more in
number than is commonly thought. But we ought not to multi-
other opertttionfl of mind, saooeed each other in fmtns of tkovght andfeeluui .
by Tirtne of this fiicolty, he obsenres, that the term association seems to
imply that the two ideas or affections, the one of which serves to call ap,
or remind as of, the other, were formerly present to the mind together, and
were then associated, or so connected with each other, that, ever afterwards,
one conld not occor without bringing up the other also. In other words,
he thinks the term association implies previous association ; and to this hy-
pothesis he opposes the well-known fact, " that an object seen Jbr the firt
time does suggest many relative conceptions." ** In this case, at least,
there cannot have been any previous connection of that which suggests
with that which is suggested." " That the perception of a giant, which
had never before coexisted with the idea of a dwarf, should yet be suf-
ficient, without some prior association, to induce that idea, may seem Tery
wonderful ; but wonderful as it is, it is really not more mysterious than
if the two ideas had coexisted, or succeeded each other, innumerable
times. The great mystery is in the simple fact of the recurrence or spon-
taneous rise of any idea, without the recurrence of the external cause which
produced it ; and when that external cause has ceased, peihaps, to have
any existence." Take Byron's vivid description of the Dying Gladiator,
as an instance to show \io\^ present peroeptionSf however strong and startling
in character, may yet fail to call away the mind's attention from the
thoughts and scenes of other days, now long distant, though the latter are
not suggested by any object of sense, but only by a train of ideas and
passions that were brought together by the principle of opposition of
contrast.

" And now
The arena swims around him, — he is gone.
Ere ceased the inhuman shout which hailed the wretch who won.
" He heard it, but he heeded not, — his eyes

Were with his heart, and that was far avxjy.

He recked not of the life he lost, nor prize ;

Bui where his rude hut by the Danube lay,

There were his young barbarians all at play.

There was their Daciaii mother " — \

THE ASSOCIATION OF n>£AS. 157

ply them without necessity. That trains of thinking, which
by frequent repetition have become familiar, should spontanea
ously offer themselTes to our fancy, seems to require no other
original quality but the power of habit"

With this observation I cannot agree; because I think it
more philosophical to resolve the power of habit into the associ-
ation of ideas, than to resolve the association of ideas into habit
The word habity in the sense in which it is commonly em-
ployed, expresses that facility which the mind acquires, in aO
its exertions, both animal and intellectual, in consequence of
practice. We apply it to the dexterity of the workman ; to
the extemporary fluency of the orator ; to the rapidity of the
arithmetical accountant. That this facility is the effect of prac-
tice, we know from experience to be a fact ; but it does not
seem to be an ultimate fact, nor incapable of analysis.

In'the Essay on Attention, I showed that the effects of prac-
tice are produced partly on the body, and partly on the mind.
The muscles which we employ in mechanical operations, be-
come stronger, and become more obedient to the wilL This
is a fact, of which it is probable that philosophy will never be
able to give any explanation.

But even in mechanical operations, the effects of practice
are produced partly on the mind ; and, as far as this is the case,
they are resolvable into what philosophers call the association
of ideas, or into that general fact which Dr. Reid himself has
stated, " that trains of thinking, which, by frequent repetition,
have become familiar, spontaneously offer themselves to the
mind." In the case of habits which are purely intellectual, the
effects of practice resolve themselves completely into this prin-
ciple : and it appears to me more precise and satisfactory, to
state the principle itself as a law of our constitution, than to
slur it over under the concise appellation of habit, which we
apply in common to mind and body.

dissociation of ideas distinguished from imagination, — The
tendency in the human mind to associate or connect its thoughts
together, is sometimes called, but very improperly, the imagi
nation. Between these two parts of our constitution, there ia^

14

158 THE ASSOCIATION OF IDEAS.

indeed, a verj intimate relation; and it is probablj owing to
this relation, that thej have been so generallj confounded ondef
the same name. When the mind is occapied about absent ob-
je<;ts of sense, (which, I believe, it is habituallj in the great
majority of mankind,) its train of thought is merelj a series of
conceptions ; or, in common language, of imaginations. In the
case, too, of poetical imagination, it is the association of ideas
that supplies the materials out of whidi its combinations are
formed ; and when such an imaginary combination id become
familiar to the mind, it is the association of ideas that connects
its different parts together, and unites them into one whole.
The association of ideas, therefore, although perfectly distinct
from the power of imagination, is immediately and essentially
subservient to all its exertions.

Fancy di$t%ngui$hed from imagination. — The last obser-
vation seems to me to point out, also, the circumstance which has
led the greater part of English writers to use the words imagi-
nation and fancy as synonymmu. It is obvious, that a creative
imagination, when a person possesses it so habitually that it
may be regarded as forming one of the characteristics of his
genius, implies a power of summoning up, at pleasure, a par-
ticular class of ideas, and of ideas related to each other in a
particular manner ; which power can be the result only of cer-
tain habits of association, which the individual has acquired.

It is to this power of the mind, which is evidently a par-
ticular turn of thought, and not one of the common principles
of our nature, that our best writers (so far as I am able to
judge) refer, in general, when they make use of the ^ord fancy ;
I say, in general; for in disquisitions of this sort, in which the
best writers are seldom precise and steady in the employment of
words, it is only to their prevailing practice that we can appeal
. as an authority. What the particular relations are, by which
those ideas are connected that are subservient to poetical
imagination, I shall not inquire at present I think they are
chiefly those of resemblance and analogy. But whatever they
may be, the power of summoning up at pleasure the ideas so
elated, as' it is the groundwork of poetical geniis, is of sufli-

^HB ASSOCIATION OF IDSAS. . 159

eieiit importance in the human constitution to deserve an appro-
priated name ; and, for this purpose, the word fancy would ap-
pear to be the most convenient that our language affords.

Dr. Beid has somewhere observed, that '^ the part of oar con-
stitution on which the association of ideas depends, was called^
by the older English writers, the fantasy or fancy ;^ a use of
the word, we may remark, which coincides, in many instances,
with that which I propose to make of it. It differs from it
only in this, that these writers applied it to the association of
ideas in general, whereas I restrict its application to that habit
of association, which is subservient to poetical imagination.

According to the explanation which has now been given of
the word yancy, {ke office of this power is to coUect materials for
the imagincUion ; and, therefore, the latter power presupposes
the former, while the former dc^s not necessarily suppose the
lattef . A man whose habits of association present to him, for
illustrating or embellishing a subject, a number of resembling,
or of analogous ideas, we call a man of fancy : but for an effort
of imagination, various other powers are necessary, particularly
the powers of taste and of judgment ; without which, we can hope
to produce nothing that will be a source of pleasure to others.
It is the power of fancy which supplies the poet with metar
phorical language, and with aU the analogies which are the
foundation of his illusions ; but it is the power of imagination
that creates the complex scenes he describes, and the fictitious
characters he delineates. To fancy, we apply the epithets of
rich or luxuriant ; to imagination, those of beautiful or sublime.*

* [Though the best writers, as Stewart remarks, are seldom steady and
precise in the use of two terms so nearly related to each other za fancy and
imagination, we think these two faculties may yet be distinguished from
each other by a broader line of separation than the one marked out in the
text. In fact, the assertion that it is the oflSce of fancy only to furnish the
materials for the imagination to work upon, if it be understood to mean,
that fancy merely reproduces the sights and sounds, the thoughts and feel-
ings, that were known before, without altering or refashioning them, or

100 THE ASSOCIATION OF IDSA8.

IL Of the principles of associoHim among our ideae. — Th«
facto which I stated in the former Section, to illustrate the ten-
dency of a perception, or of an idea, to suggest ideas related tc
it, are so obvious as to be matter of common remark. But the
relations which connect all our thoughto together, and the laws
which regulate their succession, were but little attended to
before the publication of Mr. Hume's writings.

oombining them anew, is contradicted by the usage both of poets and
critici.

" So full of shapes is fancy,
That it alone is high fantastical ; " —

and it throws- its materials together into combinations so new and fimcifii],
that the likeness of them cannot be fonnd on the earth or under the earth.
A " fancy picture," or a " fkacy sketch/' is commonly understood to mean
an ideal combination of things often found separate in nature, but never
before found together. The leading characteristie of such fancy work is,
that it is recognized at the moment to be unreal, or fantastic.

But imagination, as Stewart has here pointed out, is accompanied by
belief; it is, for the moment, a delusion, or a phrenzy. It assumes, or
takes for granted, the reality of its own creations. Where fancy sees only
a resemblance, imagination beholds identity. Hence, the appropriate
figure of speech for the one, is a simile ; for the other, a metaphor or
trope. Donne's witty comparison of husband and wife to a pair of com-
passes,—

'' The one doth in the centre sit,

And when the other far does roam.
It leans and hearkens after it,

And grows erect as it comes home "—

is, in Itself, purely fknciful ; for it is an avowed comparison. But one poiv
tion of it, — that which we have italicized, — is of imagination aU-com-
pact ; for one half of the compasses is here not merely ,/^ifiaet/ to be a
human being, but, on the supposition that it t> a hnman being, correspond-
ing affections, purposes, and actions are attributed to it. So, in Shak-
speare's magnificent description of daybreak, —

" See, love ! what envious streaks
Do lace the severing clouds in yonder East ;
Night's candles are burnt out, and jocund Day
Stands tiptoe on the misty mountain tops '* —

the poet's mind is all aglow with imagination, and the most daring pioso-
nopoeia becomes the instinctive language of truth itself.]

THB ASSOCIATION OF IDBA8. J 61

It is well known to those who are in the least conversant
with the present state of metaphysical science, that this eminent
writer has attempted to reduce all the principles of association
among our ideas to three : ResemUancey Continuity in time and
place, and Cause and .Effect. The attempt was great, and worthy
of his genius ; but it has been shown hj several writers since
his time,* that his enumeration is not only incomplete, but that
it is even indistinct, so far as it goes.

It is not necessary for my present purpose, that I should
enter into a critical examination of this part of Mr. Hume's
system ; or that I should attempt to specify those principles of
association which he has omitted. Indeed, it does not seem to
me, that the problem admits of a satisfactory solution ; for there
is no possible relation among the objects of our knowledge,
which may not serve to connect them together in the mind ;
and, therefore, although one enumeration may be more compre-
hensive than another, a perfectly complete enumeration is
scarcely to be expected.

Nor is it merely in consequence of the relations among
things^ that our notions of them are associated : they are fre«
quently coupled together by means of relations among the
words which denote them ; such as a similarity of sound, or
Other circumstances still more trifling. The alliteration which
is so common in poetry, and in proverbial sayings, seems to
arise, partly at least, from associations of ideas founded on the
accidental circumstance, of the two words which express them
beginning with the same letter.

** Bttt thousands die, without or this or that ;

Die, and endow a college, or a cat." — Pope's Ep. to Lord Batharst
** Ward tried, on pappies and the poor, his drop." — Id. Imitat. of Horace.
"Puffs, powders, patches; bibles, billet-doux." — Rape of the Lock.

* It is observed by Dr. Beattie, that something like an attempt to enn*
merate the laws of association is to be found in Aristotle, who, in speaking
of recollection, insinuates, with his usual brevity, that " the relations, by
which we are led from one thought to another, in tracing out, or hunting
^per" as he calls it, " any particular thought which does not immediately
oocnr, are chiefly three, resembianiXf contrariety, and contigwhf***

162 VHB A880CI1.TIOK OF TDMAM.

This indeed pleases onlj on slight occasions, when it maj be
supposed that the mind is in some degree plajful, and under
the influence of those principles of association which commonlj
take place when we are careless and disengaged. Every per-
son must be offended with the second line of the following
couplet, which forms part of a very sublime description of the
Divine power:—

" Breathes in our sonl, infonni our mortal part»
As fall, as perfect^ in a hair as heart."— Essay on Man^Ep. L

To these observations, it may be added, that things which
have no known relation to each other are often associated in
consequence of their producing similar effects on the mind.
Some of the finest poetical allusions are founded on this prin-
ciple ; and accordingly, if the reader is not possessed of sensi-
bility congenial to that of the poet, he will be apt to overlook
their meaning, or to censure them as absurd. To such a critic,
it would not be easy to vindicate the beauty of the following
stanza, in an ode addressed to a lady by the author of the
** Seasons:** —

" O thou, whose tender, serious eye,
Ezpressiye speaks the soul I love ;
The gentle azure of the sky,
The pensive shadows of the grove."

2^ principles of assoctcOian divided into two daeees. — I have
already said, that the view of the subject which I propose to
take, does not require a complete enumeration of our principles
of association. There is, however, an important distinction
among them, to which I sh^ have occasion frequently to refer ;
and which, as far as I know, has not hitherto attracted the
notice of philosophers. The relations upon which some of them
are founded, are perfectly obvious to the mind ; those which are
the foundation of others, are discovered onfy in consequence of
partictdar efforts of attention. Of the former kind, are the re-
lations of resemblance and analogy, of contrariety, of vicinity in
time and place, and those which arise from accidental coind-
dences in the sound of different words. These, in general, con-

THB ASSOCIATION OF IDEAS. 163

nect our thoughts together, when they are suffered to take their
natural course, and when we are conscious of little or no active
exertion. Of the latter kind, are the relations of cause and
effecty of means and endj of premises and conclusion ; and those
others, which regulate the train of thought in the mind of the
philosopher when he is engaged in a particular investigation.

It is owing to this distinction, that transitions, which would he
highlj offensive in philosophical writing, are the most pleasing
of any in poetry. In the former species of composition, we
expect to see an author lay down a distinct plan or method,
and observe it rigorously ; without allowing himself to ramble
into digressions, suggested by the accidental ideas or expres-
sions, which may occur to him in his progress. In that state
of mind in which poetry is read, such digressions are not only
agreeable, but necessary to the effect; and an arrangement
founded on the spontaneous and seemingly casual order of our
thoughts, pleases more than one suggested by an accurate
analysis of the subject.

How absurd would the long digression in praise of in-
dustry, in Thomson's ^ Autumn," appear, if it occurred in a
prose essay ! a digression, however, which, in that beaudful
poem, arises naturally and insensibly from the view of a luxu-
riant harvest ; and which as naturally leads the poet back to
the point where his excursion began : —

** All is the gift of industry ; whatever
Exalts, embellishes, and renders life
Delightful. Pensire Winter, cheered by him,
Sits at the social fire, and happy hears
Th' excluded tempest idly rave along ;
His harden'd fingers deck the gaudy Spring ;
Without him Summer were an arid waste ;
Nor to th' Autumnal months could thus transmit
Those full, mature, immeasurable stores.
That, waving round, recall my wand'ring song."

In Goldsmith's " Traveller," the transitions are managed with
consummate skill; and yet how different from that logical
method which would be suited to a philosophical discourse on
the state of society in the different parts of Europe I Some of

164 THB A8SOCIATIOV OF IDEAS.

the finest are suggested by the associating principle of cantiast
Thus, after describing the effeminate and debased Roman, the
poet proceeds to the Swiss : -»—

** My soul turn from them— turn we to survey
Where rougher climes a nobler race display."

And, after painting some defects in the manners of this gallant
but unrefined people, his thoughts are led to those of the
French: —

" To kinder skies, where gentler manners reign,
I turn — and France displays her bright domain."

The transition which occurs in the following lines, seems to
be suggested by the accidental mention of a word : and is cer-
tainly one of the happiest in our language: —

" Heavens ! how unlike their Belgic sires of old !
Bough, poor, content, ungovernably bold ;
War in each breast, and freedom on each brow.
How much unlike the sons of Britain now !
— Fired at the sound, my genius spreads her wing.
And flics, where Britain courts the western spring.'

Numberless illustrations of the same remark might be col-
lected from the ancient poets, more particularly from the
Greorgics of Virgil, where the singular felicity of the transitions
has attracted the notice even of those who have been the least
disposed to indulge themselves in philosophical refinement con-
cerning the principles of criticism. A celebrated instance c^
this kind occurs in the end of the first book ; the consideration
of the weather and of its common prognostics leading the fancy,
in the first place, to those more extraordinary phenomena which,
according to the superstitious belief of the vulgar, are the fore-
runners of political revolutions ; and afterwards to the death of
Csesar, and the battles of Pharsalia and Philippi. The manner
in which the poet returns to his original subject, displays that
exquisite art which is to be derived only from the diligent and
enlightened study of nature.

** Scilicet et tempus veniet chm finibus illis
Agricola, incurvo terram molitos aratro.

THE ASSOCIATION OF IDEAS. 18S

Exesa invenient scabril rabigine pila ;
Aut grayibas rastris galeas pulsabit inanes,
Grandiaque effossis mirabitur ossa sepulcbris."

Ideas are associated mare readily in the minds of some pefsani
than of others. — The facility with which ideas are associated
in the mind, is very different in different individuals ; a circum-
stance which, as I shall afterwards show, lays the foundation of
remarkable varieties among men, both in respect of genius and
of character. I am inclined, too, to think that, in the other sex,
(probably in consequence of early education,) ideas are mwe
easily associated together than in the minds of men. Hence
the liveliness of their fimcy, and the superiority they possess in
epistolary writing, and in those kinds of poetry in which the
principal recommendations are, ease of thought and expression.
Hence, too, the facility with which they contract or loose habits,
and acconmiodate their minds to new situations ; and I may add,
the disposition they have to that species of superstition which is
founded on accidental combinations of circumstances. The
influence which this facility of association has on the power of
taste, shall be afterwards considered.

HI. Of the power which the mind has over the train of its
thoughts. — By means of the association of ideas, a constant
current of thoughts, if I may use the expression, is made to
pass through the mind while we are awake. Sometimes the
current is interrupted, and the thoughts diverted into a new
channel, in consequence of the ideas suggested by other men, or
of the objects of perception with which we are surrounded. So
completely, however, is the mind, in this particular, subjected to
physical laws, that it has been justly observed by Lord Kaimes
and others, we cannot, by an effort of our will, call up any one
thought ; and that the train of our ideas depends on causes
which operate in a manner inexplicable by us.

This observation, although it has been censured as paradoxi-
cal, is almost self-evident ; for, to caU up a particular thought
supposes it to be already in the mind. As I shall have frequent
occasion, however, to refer to the observation afterwards, I shall
endeavor to obviate the only objection which, I think, canraaM-

166 THB AS800IATI0K OP XDKAfl.

onably be urged against it ; and which is founded on that ope>
ration of the mind which is commonlj called recollection or
intetitional memory,

' Jktentional memory explained. — It is evident, that before we
attempt to recollect the particular circumstances of anj event,
that event in general must have been an object of our attention.
We remember the outlines of the story, but cannot at first give
a complete account of it If we wish to recall these circum-
stances, there are only two ways in which we can proceed. We
must either form different suppositions, and then consider which
of these tallies best with the other circumstances of the event;
or, by revolving in our mind the circumstances we remember,
we must endeavor to excite the recollection of the other circum-
stances associated with them. The first of these processes is,
properly speaking, an inference of reason, and plainly furnishes
no exception to the doctrine already delivered. We have an
instance of the other mode of recollection, when we are at a
loss for the beginning of a sentence, in reciting a composition
that we do not perfectly remember ; in which case, we naturally
repeat over, two or three times, the concluding words of the
preceding sentence, in order to call up the other words which
used to be connected with them in the memory. In this in-
stance, it is evident, that the circumstances we desire to re-
member are not recalled to the mind in immediate consequence
of an exertion of volition, but are suggested by some other w*
cumstances with which they are connected, independently of
our will, by the laws of our constitution.

Notwithstanding, however, the immediate dependence of the
train of our thoughts on the laws of association, it must not be
imagined that the will possesses no influence over it This
influence, indeed, is not exercised directly and immediately, as
we are apt to suppose on a superficial view of the subject : but
it is ntsvertheless, very extensive in its effects ; and the different
degrees in which it is possessed by different individuals, consti-
tute some of the most striking inequalities among men, in point
of intellectual capacity.

Piywer of the will over the ihoughtt. — Of the powers which

THE ASSOOIATION OF IDEAS. 187

ibe mind possesses over the train of its thoqghtSy the most
obvious is its power of singling^ out any one of them at pleasure ;
of detaining it ; and of making it a particular object of atten-
tion. Bj doing so, we not onlj stop the succession that would
otherwise take place ; but, in consequence of our bringing to
view the less obvious relations among our ideas, we frequently
divert the current of our thoughts into a new channel. If, for
example, when I am indolent and inactive, the name of Sir
Isaac Newton accidentally occur to me, it will perhaps suggest,
one after another, the names of some other eminent mathema-
ticians and astronomers, or some of his illustrious contemporaries
And friends : and a number of them may pass in review bef<»*e
me, without engaging my curiosity in any considerable degree^
In a different state of mind, the name of Newton will lead my
thoughts to the principal incidents of his life, and the more
etriking features of his character: or, if my mind be ardent and
yigorous, will lead my attention to the sublime discoveries he
made ; and gradually engage me in Bome philosophical investi-
gation. To every object^ there are others which bear obvious
and striking relations ; and others, also, whose relation to it
does not readily occur to us, unless we dwell upon it for some
time, and place it before us in different points of view.

But the principal power we possess over the train of our ideas,
is founded on ^a influence which our habits of thinking, have on
the laws of association ; an influence which is so great, that we
may often form a pretty shrewd judgment concerning a man^
prevailing turn of .thought, from the transitions he makes ill
conversation or in writing. It is well known, too, that by mean^
of habit, a particular associating principle may be strengthened
to such a degree, as to give us a command of all the different
ideas in our mind, which have a certain relation to each other;
BO that, when any one of the class occurs to us, we have almost
a certainty that it will suggest the rest. What confidence in his
own powers must a speaker possess, when he rises without pre-
meditation, in a popular assembly, to amuse his audience with a
lively or a humorous speed 1 Such a confidence, it is evident^

168 THE ASSOCIATION OF IDBA8.

can onlj arise from a long expeneaaee of the strengdi of par-
ticular associating principles.

HahiU of agsociation facilitate the exercise ofvarioue ptnoen
of mind, — To how great a degree this part of oar constitution
maj be influenced by habit, appears from facts which are £uniliar
to every one. A man who has an ambition to become a punster,
seldom or never fiiils in the attainment of his object ; that is, he
seldom or never fails in acquiring a power which other men
have not, of summoning up, on a particular occasion, a number
of words different from each other in meaning, and resembling
each other, more or less, in sound. I am inclined to think that
even genuine wit is a habit acquired in a similar way ; and that»
although some individuals may, from natural constitution, be
more fitted than others to acquire this habit; it is founded in
every ease on a peculiarly strong association among certain
classes of our ideas, which gives the person who possesses it^ a
command over those ideas, which is denied to ordinary men.
But there is no instance in which the effects of habits of asso-
ciation is more remarkable than in those men who possess a
fiusility of rhyming. That a man should be able to express his
thoughts perspicuously and elegantly, under the restraints which
rhyme imposes, would appear to be incredible, if we did not
know it to be faicL Such a power implies a wonderful com-
mand boj;h of ideas and of expressions ; and yet daily experience
shows that it may be gained with very little practice. Pope
tells us with respect to himself, that he could express himself
not only more concisely, but more easily, in rhyme than in
prose.*

Nor is it only in these trifling accomplishments that we may
trace the influence of habits of association. In every instance

* " When habit is once gained, nothing so easy as practice. Cicero
writes, that Antipater, the Sidonian, could pour forth hexameters extem-
pore ; and that, whenever he chose to versify, words followed him of course.
We may add to Antipater, the ancient rhapsodists of the Greeks, and tha
modem improvisatori of the Italians." — JBarris's PhiL Inq. 106, 110.

16»

of inTentioiiy either in the fine arts, in the mechanical arts, <Mr in
the sciences, there is some new idea, or some new combination
of ideas, brought to light by the inventor. This, undoubtedly,
may often happen in a way which he is unable to explain : that
is, his invention may be suggested to him by some lucky thought,
the origin of which he is unable to trace. But when a man
possesses an habitual fertility of invention in any particular art
or science, and can rely, with confidence, on his inventive powers,
whenever he is caUed upon to exert them, he must have acquired,
by previous habits of study, a command over certain classes of
his ideas, which enables him, at pleasure, to bring them under
his review. The illustration of these subjects may throw light
on some processes of the mind, which are not in general well
understood : and I shall accordingly, in the fi>Uowing section,
<^er a few hints with respect to those habits of association which
are the foundation of wit ; of the power of rhyming; of poetical
fiEmcy ; and of invention in matters of science.

IV. NuUratitms of tkU doctrine. 1. Of wit — According to
Locke, Wit consists ^< in the assemblage of ideas ; and patting
those together with quickness and variety, wherein can be found
any resemblance or congruity." I would add to this definition,
(rather by way of comment than of amendment,) that wit
implies a power ofcaMng up atpUtuure the idew which it com"
bines; and I am inclined to believe, that the entertainment
which it gives to the hearer is founded, in a considerable degree,
on his surprise at the command which the man of wit has
acquired over a part of the constitution, which is so littie subject
to the wilL

That the effect of wit depends partiy, at least, on the drcnm-
stance now mentioned, appears evidentiy from this, that we are
more pleased wiUi a bon mot which occurs in conversation, than
with one in print ; and that we never fail to receive disgust
from wit, when we suspect it to be premeditated. The pleasure,
too, we receive from wit, is heightened, when the original idea
is started by one person, and the related idea by another. Dr.
Campbell has remarked, that ^ a witty repartee is infinitely more
pleasing than a witty attack ; and that an allusion will appear

15

m

excellent when thrown out extempore in conversation, wMeh
would be deemed execrable in print" In all these cases, ih^
wit considered absohUely is the same. The relations which are
discovered between the compared ideas are equallj new; and
yet, as soon as we suspect that the wit was premeditated, the
pleasure we receive from it is infinitely diminished. Instances
indeed may be mentioned, in which we are pleased with oontem*
plating an unexpected relation between ideas, without any refer-
ence to the habits of association in the mind of the person who
discovered it. A ban mot produced at the game of cross-pur-
poses, would not fail to create amusement; but in such cases,
our pleasure seems chiefly to arise from the surprise we feel at
80 extraordinary a coincidence between a question and an
answer coming from persons who had no direct oommunicatifHi
with each other.

Of the effect added to wit by the promptitude with which its
combinations are formed, Fuller appears to have had a very
just idea, from what he has recorded of the social hours of our
two great English Dramatists. ^ Jonson's parts were not so
ready to run of themselves, as able to answer the spur ; so that
it may be truly said of him, that he had an elaborate wit, wrought
out by his own industry. Many were the wit combats between
him and Shakspeare, which- two I behold like a Spanish great
galleon, and an English man-of-war. Jonson, like the former,
was built far higher in learning ; solid, but slow in his perform-
ances. Shakspeare, with the English man-of-war, lessor in
bulk, but lighter in sailing, could turn with all tides, tack about
and take advantage of all winds, by the quickness of his mt
and invention."

I before observed, that the pleasure we receive from wit in
increased, when the two ideas between which the relation is dis-
covered, are suggested by different persons. In the case of a
hon mot occurring in conversation, the reason of this is abun**
dantly obvious ; because, when the related ideas are suggested
by different persons, we have a proof that the wit was not pre*
meditated. But even in a written composition, we are much
more delighted when the subject was furnished tQ the author bjr

171

another person^ Hum whoi be chooses the topic on which he ii
to display his wit. How much would the pleasure we receive
firom the Key to the Lock be diminished, if we suspected that the
author had the key in view when he wrote that poem ; and that
be introduced some expressions, in order to furnish a subject for
the wit of the commentator. How totally would it destroy the
pleasure we receive from a parody on a poem, if we suspected
that both were productions of the same author? The truth
seems to be, that when both the related ideas are suggested by
ihe same person, we have not a very satisfactory proof of any
thing uncommon in the intellectual habits of the author. We
may suspect that both ideas occurred to him at the same time ;
and we know that, in the dullest and most pMegmatic minds,
such extraordinary associations will sometimes take place. But
when the subject of the wit is furnished by one person, and the
wit suggested by another, we have a proof, not only that the-
author's mind abounds with such singular associations, but that
he has his wit perfectly at command.

The effect of wit increased hy the limitations and difficulties of
£^ subject. — As an additional confirmation of these observations^
we may remark, that the more an author is limited by his sub-
ject, the more we are pleased with his wit. And, therefore, the
effect of wit does not arise solely firom the unexpected relations
which it presents to the mind, but arises, in part, from the sur-
prise it excites at those intellectual habits which give it birth.
It is evident, that the more the author is circumscribed in the
dioice of his materials, the greater must be the command which
be has acquired over those associating principles on which wit
depends, and of consequence, according to the foregoing doctrine,
the greater must be the surprise and the pleasure which his wit
produces. In Addison's celebrated verses to Sir Godfrey Knel-
ler on his picture of George the First, in which he compares
the painter to Phidias, and the subjects of his pencil to the
Grecian Deities, the range of the poet's wit was necessarily
confined within very narrow bounds; and what principally
delights us in that performance is, the surprising ease and felicity
with which he runs the parallel between the English history and

172

die Greek mythology. Of all the allaskms which the foUowing
passage contains, there is not one, taken singly, of very extraor*
dinary merit; and yet the effect of the whole is uncommonly
great, from the singular power of combination, which so long
and BO difficult an exertion discovers.

** Wise Phidias thus, his skill to proye.
Thro' many a god advanced to Jore,
And tanght the polish'd rocks to shine
With airs and lineaments divine.
Till Greece amaz'd and half afraid,
Th' assembled Deities sorvey'd.

Great Fan, who wont to chase the fair.
And lov'd the spreading oak, was there ;
Old Satnm, too, with np-cast eyes.
Beheld his abdicated skies ;
And mighty Mats, for war renown'd.
In adamantine armor frown'd ;
By him the childless Goddess rose,
Minerva, stndioas to compose
Her twisted threads ; the web she strong.
And o'er a loom of marble hung;
Thetis, the troubled ocean's queen,
Match'd with a mortal next was seen.
Reclining on a funeral urn,
Her short-liv'd darling son to mourn ;
The last was he, whose thunder slew
The Titan race, a rebel crew.
That from a hundred hills ally'd.
In impious league their King defy'd.*

According to the view which I have given of the nature cif
wity the pleasure we derive from that assemblage of ideas which

* [As this parallel between English history and Grecian mythology may
not be as clear and intelligible to American as to English pupils, and as
some of the comparisons, in spite of Stewart's commendation of them,
may even appear dull and far-fetched, a few words of commentary may
not seem useless. " Great Fan " stands for Charles U., who once escaped
his pursuers by ensconcing himself in an oak tree, and whose loves were
more numerous than select. James II., who feebly lost a throne which,
in the gentle but lying phrase of the day, he was said to have " abdicated/'
is here likened to Saturn. '' J^fighty Man " is William of Orange, '* i»

BHTIOB. 178

it presents, is greatlj heightened and enlivened by our surprise
at the command displayed over a part of the constitution, which,,
in our own case, we find to be so little subject to the will. We
consider wit as a sort of feat or trick of intellectual dexterity,
analogous, in some respects, to the extraordinary performances
of ju^lers and rope-dancers ; and, in both cases, the pleasure
we receive from the exhibition, is explicable in partf (I, by no
means, say entirely) on the same principles.

K these remarks be just, it seems to follow as a consequence,
that those men who are most deficient in the power of prompt
combination, will be most poignantly afiected by it, when exerted
at the will of another : and therefore, the charge of jealousy
and envy brought against rival wits, when disposed to look grave
at each other's jests, may perhaps be obviated in a way less
injurious to their character.

The same remarks suggest a limitation, or rather an explan&>
tion, of an assertion of Lord Chesterfield's, that ^ genuine wit
never made any man laugh since the creation of the world.''
The observation, I believe to be just, if by genuine wit, we
mean wit wholly divested of every mixture of humor : and if
by laughter, we mean that convulsive and noisy agitation which
is excited by the ludicrous. But there is unquestionably a nnile
appropriated to the flashes of wit; a smile of surprise and
wonder ; — ^not altogether unlike the effect produced on the mind
and the countenance by a feat of legerdemain, when executed
with uncommon success.

2. Ofrhfyme. — The pleasure we receive from rhyme, seems
«il80 to arise, partly, from our surprise at the command which

nowned " for his long wars against Louis XIV ; while his consort and
the sharer of his throne, the childless Mary, stands for Minerva. Thetlc
stands for Queen Anne, who was "matched with a mortal'' — onewh.).
was not a king, though married to a queen — Prince George of Denmark,
her " short-lived darling son " was the Duke of Gloucester, who died at
the age of twelve years. " The last " was George I., about as poor •
representative of "Jove" as could be imagined; the Highlanlers — i. e.
the rebel "Titans," from "a hundred hills " — attempted in vain tQ
dethrone him in 1715.1

15*

174 EHTlOft.

tlie poet mint hare acquired over the train of his ideas, in order
to be able to express himself with elegance, and the appearance
of ease, under the restraint which rhyme imposes. In witty or
in humorous performances, this surprise serves to enliven that
which the wit or the humor produces, and renders its effects
more sensible. How flat do the liveliest and most ludicrous
thoughts appear in blank verse ? And how wonderfully is the
wit of Pope heightened, by the eai^ and happy rhymes in which
it is expressed?

Other tourees ofpUoiure in wit and in rhyme. — It must not,
however, be imagined, either in the case of wit or of rhyme,
that the pleasure arises solely from our surprise at the uncom-
mon habits of association which the author discovers. In the
former case, there must be presented to the mind, an unexpected
analogy or relation between different ideas ; and perhaps other
drcumstances must concur to render the wit perfect If the
combination has no other merit than that of bringing together
two ideas which never met before, we may be surprised at its
oddity, but we do not consider it as, a proof of wit On the
contrary, the want of any analogy or relation between the com-
bined ideas, leads us to suspect, that the one did not suggest the
other in consequence of any habits of association ; but that the
two were brought together by study, or by mere accident All
that I affirm is, that when the analogy or relation is pleasing in
itself, our pleasure is heightened by our surprise at the author's
habits of association when compared with our own. In the case
of rhyme, too, there is undoubtedly a certain degree of pleasure
arising from the recurrence of the same sound. We frequently
observe children amuse themselves with repeating over single
words which rhyme together ; and the lower people, who derive
little pleasure from poetry excepting in so far as it affects the
ear, are so pleased with the echo of the rhymes, that when they
read verses where it is not perfect, they are apt to supply the
poet's defects by violating the common rules of pronunciation.
This pleasure, however, is heightened by our admiration at the
miraculous powers which the poet must have acquired over
the train of his ide9s, and over all the modes of expression

BHTMB!. 175

wBlch the language affords, in order to convej instmction and
entertainment, withoat transgressing the established laws of
regular yersification. In some of the lower kinds of poetrj ;
for example, in acrostics, and in the lines which are adapts to
bouts-rimes, the merit lies entirely in this command of thought
and expression; or, in other words, in a command of ideas
founded on extraordinary habits of association. Even some
authors of a superior class occasionally show an inclination to
display their knack at rhyming, by introducing, at the end of the
first line of a couplet, some word to which the language hardly
affords a corresponding sound. Swift, in his more trifling
pieces, abounds with instances of this ; and in Hudibras, when
the author uses his double and triple rhymes, many couplets
have no merit whatever but what arises fix>m difficulty of exe-
cution.

Chiefphasure derived from rhymes. — The pleasure we receive
from rhyme in serious compositions, arises from a combination
of different circumstances which my present subject does not
lead me to investigate particularly.* I am persuaded, however,
that it arises, in part, from our surprise at the poets habits of
assoeiaiion, which enable him to convey his thoughts with ease
and beauty, notwithstanding the narrow limits within which his
choice of expression is confined. One proof of this is, that if

* In elegiac poetry, the occarrence of the same sound, and the nniform-
ity in the stractnre of the yersification which this necessarily occasions,
are peculiarly suited to the inactiyity of the mind, and to the slow and
equable succession of its ideas, when under the influence of tender or
melancholy passions ; and accordingly, in such cases, eyen the Latin poets,
though the genius of their language be yery ill fitted for compositions in
rhyme, occasionally indulge themselyes in something yery nearly approach-
ing toil:—

''Memnona si mater, mater plorayit Achillem,
Et tangant magnas tristia fata Deas ;
Flebilis indignos Elegcia solye capillos,
Ah nimis ex yero nunc tibi nomen erit."

Many other instances of the same kind might be produced from the
jdegiac verses of O^id and Tibullus.

176 BHTMB.

A^rv appmr tmy marl of contiraifUf either in the ideas or in the
expression, (mr pleasure xe proporUondBy diminuhed. The
thoughts must seem to suggest each other, cmd the rhymes to be
only an accidental circumstance. The same remark may be
made on the measure of the yerse. When in its greatest per-
fection, it does not appear to be the result of labor, but to be
dictated by nature, or prompted by inspiration. In Pope's best
Terses, the idea is expressed with as little inversion of style, aud
with as much conciseness, precision, and propriety, as the author
could have attained, had he been writing prose : without any
apparent exertion on his part, the words seem spontaneously to
arrange themselves in the most musical numbers.

" While still a child, nor yet a fool to fame,
I lisp'd in numbers, for the numbers came."

This facility of versification, it is true, may be, and probably
is, in most cases, only apparent ; and it is reasonable to think,
that in the most perfect poetical productions, not only the choice
of words, but the choice of ideas, is influenced by the rhymes.
In a prose composition, the author hcflds on in a direct course,
according to the plan he has previously formed ; but in a poem,
the rhymes which occur to him are perpetually diverting him
to the right hand or to the left, by suggesting ideas which do
not naturally rise out of his subject. This, I presume, is But-
ler's meaning in the following : —

" Rhymes the rudder are of verses.
With which, like ships, they steer their courses."

But although this may be the case in fact, the poet must employ
all his art to conceal it : insomuch that if he finds himself under
a necessity to introduce, on account of the. rhymes, a superfluous
idea, or an awkward expression, he must place it %n the JlrU
Une of the couplet, and not in the second; for the reader, natu-
rally presuming that the lines were composed in the order in
which the author arranges them, is more apt to suspect the
second line to be accommodated to the first, than the first to the
second. And this slight artifice is, in general, sufficient to
impose on that degree of attention with which poetry is read*

POETICAL FAKCT. 177

Who can doubt that, in the following lines. Pope wrote the first
for the sake of the second ?

''A wit's a feather, and a chief's a rod ;
An honest man 's the noblest work of God."

Were the first of these lines, or a line equally unmeaning, placed
last, the couplet would have appeared execrable to a person of
the most moderate taste.

Wh9f cUHteratian is introduced, — It affords a strong con-
firmation of the foregoing observations, that the poets of
some nations have delighted in the practice of alliteration,
as well as of rhyme ; and have ever considered it as an essen-
tial circumstance in versification. Dr. Beattie observes, that
^some ancient English poems are more distinguished by
alliteration, than by any other poetical contrivance. In the
works of Langland, even when no regard is had to rhyme,
and but little to a rude sort of anapestic measure, it seems
to have been a rule, that three words, at least, of each line
should begin with the sajne letter." A late author informs
us, that, in the Icelandic poetry, alliteration is considered as a
circumstance no less essential than rhyme. He mentions also
(several other restraints, which must add wonderfully to the
difficulty of versification ; and which appear to us to be per-
fectly arbitrary and capricious. K that really be the case, the
whole pleasure of the reader or hearer arises from his surprise
at the facility of the poet's composition under these complicated
restraints ; that is, from his surprise at the command which the
poet has acquired over his thoughts and expressions. In our
rhyme, I acknowledge that the coincidence of sound is agree-
able in itself; and only affirm, that the pleasure which the ear
receives from it, is heightened by the other consideration.

3. Of poetical fancy. — There is another habit of association
which, in some men, is very remarkable ; that which is the foun-
dation of poetical fancy : a talent which agrees with wit in some
circumstances, but which diffehs from it essentially in others.

The pleasure we receive from wit, agrees in one particular
with the pleasure which arises &om poetical allusions ; that in

^178 POBTICiX FAKCT.

both casesy we are pleased with contemplating an analogj
between two different sabjects. But thej differ in this, that the
man of wit has no other aim than to combine analogous ideas ;*
whereas no allusion can, with propriety, hare a place in serious
poetry, utUes$ it either illustrate or adorn the principal sufy'ect.
If it has both these recommendations, the allusion is perfect
If it has neither, as is often the case with the allusions of Cow-
ley and of Toung, the fancy of the poet degenerates into wit

If these observations be well founded, they suggest a rule
with respect to poetical allusions, which has not always been
sufficiently attended to. It frequently happens, that two subjects
bear an analogy to each other in more respects than one ; and
where such can be found, they undoubtedly furnish the most
fiiYorable of all occasions for the display of wit But, in serious
poetry, I am inclined to think, that however striking these
analogies may be, and although each of them might with pro-
priety, be made the foundation of a separate allusion, it is
improper, in the course of the same allusion, to include more
than one of them; as, by doing so, an author discovers an
affectation of wit, or a desire of tracing analogies, instead of
illustrating or adorning the subject of his oomposition.t

Why poetical fancy pleases. — I formerly defined fancy to be

* I speak here of pare and nnmixed wit ; and not of wit blended, as it
is most commonly, with some degree of humor,
t In the following stanza of Shenstone, for example.

How pale was then his tme-loye's cheek.
When Jemmy's sentence reached her ear I

"Sot never yet did Alpine snows
So /xi2e, or yet so c^ appear ; "

die doable allasion nnqaestionably borders on conceit. The same doable
allasion occars in the translation of Mallet's " William and MargareV' hT
Vincent Bourne,

" Candidior nive, firigidiorque manus."
. How inferior in pathetic simplicity to the original.

And clay cold was the lily hand, etc

POETICAL FANCY. 179

a power of agtociaiting ideas according to rekOiane of reeem*
Nance and analogy. This definition wiU probably be thought
too general ; and to approach too near to that given of wit. In
order to discover the necessary limitations, we shall considei
Tvhat the circumstances are, which please us in poetical alia
sions. As these allusions are suggested by &ncy, and are th€
most striking instances in which it displays itself, the received
rules of critics with respect to them may throw some light on
the mental power which gives them birth.

1. An aUusion pleases, by illustrating a subject comparatively
obscure. Hence, I apprehend, it will be found that allusions
from the intellectual world to the material, are more pleasing,
than from the material world to the inteUectuaL Mason, in his
Ode to Memory, compares the influence of that &culty over
our ideas, to the authority of a general over his troops ;

-" thou, whose sway

The thronged ideal hosts obey ;

Who bidst their ranks now yanish, now appear *

Flame in the van, or darken in the rear."

Would the allusion have been equally pleasing, from a general
marshallmg his soldiers, to memory and the succession of ideas ?

The effect of a literal and spiritless translation of a work of
genius, has been compared to that of the figures which we see,
when we look at the wrong side of a beautiful piece of tapestry.
The allusion is ingenious and happy ; but the pleasure which
we receive from it arises, not merely from the analogy which it
presents to us, but from the illustration which it affords of the
author's idea. No one, surely, in speaking of a piece of tapes-
try, would think of comparing the difference between its sides,
to that between an original, composition and a literal translation.

Cicero, and afler him Mr. Locke, in illustrating the difficulty
of attending to the subjects of our consciousness, have com-
pared the mind to the eye, which sees every object around it,
but is invisible to itself. To have compared the eye, in this
respect, to the mind, would have been absurd.

Mr. Pope's comparison of the progress of youthful curiosity,
. in the pursuits of science, to that of % traveller among the Alpo,

184 POETICAL FAHCr.

has been mucby and justly, admired. How would the beauty of
the allusion have been diminished, if the Alps had fumisheA
the original subject, and not the illustration !

But although this rule holds in general, I acknowledge, that
instances maj be produced, from our most celebrated poetical
performances, of allusions from material objects, both to the
inteUectuai and the moral woride^ These, however, are com-
paratively few in number, and are not to be found in descriptive
or in didactic works; but in compositions written under the
influence of some particular passion, or which are meant to ex-
press some peculiarity in the mind of the author. Thus, a
melancholy man who has met with many misfortunes in life,
will be apt to moralize on every physical event, and every ap-
pearance of nature ; because his attention dwells more halntu*
ally on human life and conduct, than on the material objects
around him. This is the case with the banished Duke, in
Shakspeare^s As you like it ; who, in the language of that poet^

" Finds tongues in trees, books in the mnning brooks.
Sermons in stones, and good in every thing."

But this is plainly a distempered state of the mind ; and the
allusions please, not so much by the analogies they present, as
by the picture they give of the character of the person to
whom they have occurred.

2. An allusion pleases, by presenting a new and beautiful
image to the mind. The analogy or the resemblance between
this image and the principal subject, is agreeable of itself, and
IS indeed necessary, to furnish an apology for the transition
which the writer makes ; but the pleasure is wonderfully height-
ened, when the new image thus presented is a beautiful one.
The following allusion, in one of Mr. Home's tragedies, appears
to me to unite almost every excellence ; — -

-" Hope and fear alternate swa/d his breast ;

Like light and shade upon a waving field,
Coursing each other, when the flying clouds
Now hide, and now reveal, the sun."

Here the analogy is remarkably perfect ; not only betweoD

INTENTION. 181

light and hope, and between darkness and fear ; but between
the rapid succession of light and shade, and the momentary
iniiuences of these opposite emotions ; while at the same time,
the new image which is presented to us, recalls one of the most
pleasing and impressive incidents in rural scenery.

The foregoing observations suggest a reason why the princi-
pal stores of fancy are commonly supposed to be borrowed
from the material world. Wit has a more extensive province,
and delights to display its power of prompt and unexpected
combinations over all the various classes of our ideas ; but the
favorite excursions of fancy are from intellectual and moral
subjects to the appearances with which our senses are conver-
sant The truth is, that such allusions please more than any
others, in poetry. According to this limited idea of fancy, it
presupposes, where it is possessed in an eminent degree, an ex-
tensive observation of natural objects, and a mind susceptible
of strong impressions from them. It is thus only that a stock
of images can be acquired ; and that these images will be ready
to present themselves, whenever any analogous subject occurs.
And hence probably it is, that poetical genius is almost always
united with an exquisite sensibiljity to the beauties of nature.

Before leaving the subject of fancy, it may not be improper
to remark that its two qualities are, liveliness and hiocuriancy.
The word Uvely refers to the quickness of the association. The
word rich, or hucuriarU, to the variety of associated ideas.

4. Of invention in the arts and sciences. — To these powers
of wit and fancy, that of invention in the arts and sciences has
a striking resemblance. Like them, it implies a command over
certain classes of ideas, which, in ordiriary men, are not equally
stibfect to the wiU ; and like them, too, it is the result of acquired
habits, and not the original gift of nature.

Of the process of the mind in scientific invention, I propose
afterwards to treat fully under the article of reasoning ; and I
shall therefore confine myself at present to a few detached re-
marks upon some views of the subject which are suggested by
the foregoing inquiries.

Difference between invention and discovery, — Before we
16

proceed, it m&j be proper to take notioe of the distiiietian be-
tween invmUion end di§eovery» The object of the former, as
bas been frequently remarked, is to produce something which
had no existence before ; that of the latter, to bring to light
something which did exist, but which was concealed from com-
mon observation. Thus we say. Otto Guerricke invented the
air-pump ; Sanctorios inyented the thermometer ; Newton and
Gregory invented the reflecting telescope ; Galileo discovered
the solar spots ; and Harvey discovered the circulation of the
blood. It appears, therefore, that improvements in the arts are
properly called irweiUunUj and that focts brought to light by
means of observation are properly called ditcoveriei.

Agreeable to this analogy is the use which we make of these
words, when we apply them to sutjects purely intellectuaL As
truth is eternal and inmiutable, and has no dependence on our
belief or disbelief of it, a person who brings to light a truth
formerly unknown is said to make a discovery. A persmi, on
the other hand, who contriyes a new method of discovering
truth, is called an inventor. Pythagoras, we say, discovered
the forty-seventh proposition of Euclid's first book; Newton
discovered the binomial theorem ; but he invented the method
of prime and ultimate ratios, and he invented the method of
fluxions.

In general, every €Khaneement in Jmcwiedge is considered as a
diicovery ; every contrivance by which we produce an effectj or
accomplish an end, is considered as an invenUon, Discoveries
in science, therefore, unless they are made by accident, imply
the exercise of invention ; and accordingly, the word invention ia
commonly used to express originality of genius in the sciences
as well as in the arts. It is in this general sense that I employ
it in the following observations.

Ifow inventions are made. — It was before renuirked, that, in
every instance of invention, there is some new idea, or same new
combination of ideeu, which is brought to light by the inventor ;
and that, althou^ this may sometimes happen in a way which
he is unable to explain, yet when a man possesses an habitual
fertility of invention in any particular art or science, and ean

BfTCKTIOlT. 18S

relj witk eonfidence on his inyentive powers whenever he it
ealied upon to exert them, he must have acquired, bj previous
habits of study, a command over thote chases of his ideas which
eare subservient to the pafticuUxr effort that he wishes to make.
In what manner this command is acquired, it is not possible,
perhaps, to explain completelj ; but it appears to me to b«'
chiefly in the two following ways. In the Jir$t place, by his
habits of speculati(Hi, he may have arranged his knowledge ia
anch a manner as may render it easy for him to combine, al
pleasure, all the various ideas in his mind which have any r^
lation to the subject about which he is occupied : or, secondly^
he may have learned by experience certain general rukSf bj
means of which he can direct the train of his thoughts into
those channels, in which the ideas he is in quest of may be
Boost likely to occur to him.

I. The former of these observations I shall not stop to illus-
trate particularly at present, as the same subject will occur
afterwards under the article of memory. It is sufficient lor my
purpose, in this chapter, to remark, that as habits of speculation
have a tendency to classify our ideas, by leading us to refer
particular facts and particular truths to general principles, and
as it is from an approximation apd comparison of related ideas
that new discoveries in most instances result, the knowledge of
the philosopher, even supposing that it is not OEiore extensive, is
arranged in a manner much more favorable to invention than
in a mind unaccustomed to system.

How much invention depends on a proper combination of the
materials of our knowledge, appears from the resources which
occur to men of the lowest degree of ingenuity, when they are
pressed by any alarming difficulty and danger, and from the
unexpected exertions made by very ordinary characters, when
caUed to situations which rouse their latent powers. In such
cases, I take for granted, that necessity operates in producing
invention, ehiejty hg concentrating the attention of the mind to
€ne set of ideas^ by leading us to view these in every light, and
to combine them variously with each other. As the same idea
may be connected with an infinite variety of others by diffiorent

184 IMVKHTlOir.

rRlations, it maj, according to circamstances, at one time snggest
one of these ideas, and at another time, a different one. Whea
we dwell long on the same idea, we obtain all the others to
which it is any way related, and thus are furnished with mar
terials on whiQh our powers of judgment and reasoning maj be
* employed. The effect of the division of labor in multiplying
mechanical contrivances is to be explained partly on the same
principle. It limits the attention to a particular subject, and
familiarizes to the mind all the possible combinations of ideas
which have any relation to it.

Haw invention differs from wit, — These observations suggest
a remarkable difference between invention and wit. The former
depends, in most instances, on a combination of those ideas,
which are connected by the less obvious principles of associ-
ation ; and it may be called forth in almost any mind by the
pressure of external circumstances. The ideas which must be
combined, in order to produce the latter, are chiefly such as are
associated by those slighter connections, which take place when*
the mind is careless and disengaged. ^ If you have real wit,"
says Lord Chesterfield, ^ it will flow spontaneously, and yoa
need not aim at it ; for in that case, the rule of the gospel is
reversed; and it will prove, seek, and you shall not find.**
Agreeably to this observation, wit is promoted by a certain
d^ree of intoxication, which prevents the exercise o£ that at-
tention which is necessary for invention in matters of science.
Hence too it is, that those who have the reputation of wits, are
commonly men confident in their own powers, who allow the
train of their ideas to follow, in a great measure, its natural
course, and hazard, in company, every thing, good or bad, that
occurs to them. Men of modesty and taste seldom attempt wit
in a promiscuous society ; or if they are forced to make such an
exertion, they are seldom successful. Such men, however, in
the circle of their friends, to whom they can unbosom them-
selves without reserve, are frequently the most amusing and the
most interesting of companions; as the vivacity of their wit ia
tempered by a correct judgment and refined manners ; and as
its effect is heightened by that sensibility and delicacy, with

DnrsNTiOK. 185

whidi we so rarely find it accompanied in the common inter-
course of life.

When a man of wit makes an exertion to distinguish himself,
his sallies are commonly too far-fetched to please. He brings
his mind into a state approaching to that of the inventor, and
becomes rather ingenious than witty. This is often the case'
with the writers whom Johnson distinguishes by the name of
the metaphysical poets.

. Those powers of invention, which necessity occasionally calls
^rth in uncultivated minds, some individuals possess habitually.
The related ideas which, in the case of the former, are brought
together by the slow efforts of attention and recollection, pre*
sent themselves to the latter, in consequence of a more system-
atical arrangement of their knowledge. The instantaneousness
with which such remote combinations are effected, sometimes
appear so wonderful, that we are apt to ascribe it to something
like inspiration ; but it must be remembered, that when any
subject strongly and habitually occupies the thoughts, it gives
lis an interest in the observation of the most trivial circurn-
stances which we suspect to have any relation to it, however
distant ; and by thus rendering the common objects and occur*
rences which the accidents of life present to us, subservient to
one particular employment of the intellectual powers, establishes
in the memory a connection between our &vorite pursuit, and
all the materiab with which experience and reflection have sup
plied us for the further prosecution of it.

n. Inventions facilitated by general rules, — I observed, in
the second place, that invention may be facilitated by general
ruleSy which enable the inventor to direct the train of his
thoughts into particular channels. These rules (to ascertain
which ought to be one principal object of the logician) will
afterwards fall under my consideration, when I come to ex-^
amine those intellectual processes which are subservient to the
discovery of truth. At present, I shaU confine myself to a few
general remarks ; in stating which, I have no other aim than to
show, to how great a degree invention depends on cultivation

16*

186 nrmnoir*

and habil, erea m those sdencet in wliich it 10 gesatoMy wap"
posed that eveiy thing depends on natural genias.

When we consider the geometrical discoveries of the ancients,
in the form in which thej are exhibited in the greater part of
the woAb which have survived to our times, it is seldom pos^
sible f<Mr OS to trace the steps bj which thej were led to their
conclusions ; and, . indeed, the objects of this science are so
unlike those of all others, that it is not unnatural for a person,
when he enters on the stud j, to be dazzled bj its noveltj, and
to form an exaggerated conception of the genius of those men
who first brou^t to light such a variety of truths, so profound
and so remote from the ordinary course of our speculations*
We find, however, that, even at the time when the ancient
analysb was unknown to the modems, such mathematicians aa
had attended to iheproffreu of the mind in the discovery of
truth, concluded ^ priariy that the discoveries of the Greek
geometers did not, at first, occur to them in the order in which
they are stated in their writings. The prevailing opinion was,
tiiat they had possessed some secret method of investigation,
which they carefully concealed from the worid ; and that they
published the result of their labors in such a form, as they
thought would be most likely to excite the admiration of their
leaders. The revival of the ancient analysis, by some late mathe*
maticians in this country, has, in part, justified these remarks, by
showing to how great a degree the inventive powers of the
Greek geometers were aided by that method of investigation ;
and by exhibiting some striking specimens of address in the
practical application of it.

The solution of problems^ indeed, it may be said, is but one
mode in which mathematical invention may be displayed. The
diicovery of new truths is what we chiefly admire in an original
genius ; and the method of analysis gives us no satisfaction with
respect to the process by which they are obtained.

How new theorems are discovered. — To remove this difficulty
completely, by explaining all the various ways in which new
theorems may be brought to light, would lead to inquiries foreign
to this work. In order, however, to render the process of the

BTTBHTIOK. 187

AMd^ oA Sttcb occasions, a little less mysterious than it is com*
monlj siipposed to be ; it may be proper to remark, that the
most copious source of discoveries is the investigation of prob-
lems; which seldom fails (even although we should not suc-
ceed in the attainment of the object which we have in view) to
exhibit to us some relations formerly unobserved among the
quantities whieh are under consideration. Of so great in^)or«
tanoe is it to concentrate the attention to a particular subject^
and to check thai ioandering and dissipated hMt ofthtmght^
which, in the ease of most persons^ renders their speculations
barren of any profit either to themselves or to others. Many
theorems, too, hav^ been suggested by analogy; many have
been investigated from truths formerly known by altering^ or hjf
gmk^roHting^ the hgpo^iens; and many have been obtained by a
species of induction. An illustration of these various processes
of the mind would not only lead to new and curious remarksf
but would contribute to diminish that blind admiration of original
genius, which is one of the chief obstacles to the improvement
of science.

Success in scientijic researches depends an method, — The
history of natural philosophy, before and after the time of Lord
Bacon, affords another proof, how much the powers of invention
and discovery may be assisted by the study of method: and in all
the sciences, without exception, whoever employs his genius with
h regular and habitual success, plainly shows, that it is by means
of general rules that his inquiries are conducted. Of these
rules, there may be many which the inventor never stated
to himself in words ; and perhaps he may even be unconscious
of the assistance which he derives from them ; but their influence
on his genius appears unquestionably from the uniformity with .
which it proceeds ; and in proportion as they can be ascertained
by his own speculations, or collected by the logician from an
examination of his researches, similar powers of invention will
be placed within the reach of other men, who apply themselves
to the same study.

The following remarks, which a truly philosophical artist has
ft^lied to painting, may be extended, with some trifling altun^

188 BRBAMiira.

tioDSy to all the different employments of our intelleetiiil
powers : —

^ What we now call gen%%u begins, not where roles, abstnict-
edlj taken, end ; but where known, vulgar, and trite rules have
no longer any place. It must of necessity be, that a work of
genius, as well as every other effect, as it must have its cause,
must likewise have its rules ; it cannot be by chance, that excel-
lences are produced with any constancy, or any certainty, for
this is not the nature of chance ; but the rules by which men of
extraordinary parts, and such as are called men of genius, work,
are either such as they discover by their own peculiar observa-
tion, or of such a nice texture as not easily to admit handling
or expressing in words.

^ Unsubstantial, however, as these rules may seem, and diffi-
cult as it may be to convey them in writing, they are still seen
and felt in the mind of the artist; and he works from th^n with
as much certainty, as if they were embodied, as I may say, upon
piqper. It is true, these refined principles cannot be always
made palpable, like the more gross rules of art ; yet it does not
follow, but that the mind may be put in such a train, that it
shall perceive, by a kind of scientific sense, that propriety which
words can but very feebly suggest/' — {Discourses by Sir
Joshua Reynolds.)

y. Application of the principles stated in the foregoing sections
of this chapter^ to explain the phenomena of dreaming. — With
respect to the phenomena of dreaming, three different questions
may be proposed. First, What is the state of the mind in
sleep? or, in other words, irAo^/ocu^^ then continue to operate,
and what faculties are then suspended? Secondly, How far
« do our dreams appear to be influenced by our bodily sensations;
and in what respects do they vary, according to the different
conditions of the body in health, and in sickness ? Thirdly,
What is the change which sleep produces on those parts of the
hody^ with which our mental operations are more immediately
connected ; and how does this change operate, in diversifying so
remarkably the phenomena which our minds then exhibit, from
those of which we are conscious in our waking hours? Of these

tiired ifaestionS) the^fvl belongs to the philosophy of the humati
miad ; and it is to this question that the following inquiry ig
ahnost entirely confined. The second is more particularly in-
teresting to the medical inquirer, and does not properly fall
under the plan of this work. The third seems to me to relate
to a subject^ which is placed beyond the reach of the human
facuUie$.

It may be granted, that, if we could ascertain the state of the
mind in sleep, so as to be able to resolve the various phenomena
of dreaming into a smaller number of general principles ; and
still more, if we could resolve them into one genetal fact, we
should be. advanced a very important step, in our inquiries upon
this subject ; even although we should find it impossible to show,
in what manner this change in the state of the mind results from
the change which sleep produces in the state of the body. Such
a step would at least gratify, to a certain extent, that disposition
of our nature which prompts us to ascend from particular facts
to general laws, and which is the foundation of all our philo-*
sophical researches ; and, in the present instance, I am inclined to
think, that it carries us as far as our imperfect faculties enable
us to proceed.

What cireumitanees accelerate or retard the approach of sleep, — •
Id conducting this inquiry with respect to the state of the mind
ill sleep, it seemd reasonable to expect, that some light may be
obtained from an examination of the circumstances which accele-
rate or retard its approach ; for when we are disposed to rest^
it is natural to imagine, that the state of the mind approaches
to its state in sleep more nearly, than when we feel ourselves
alive and active, and capable of applying all our various facul-
ties to their proper purposes.

In general, it may be remarked, that the approach of sleep is
accelerated by every circumstance which diminishes or suspends
the exercise of the mental powers ; and is retarded by every
thing which has a contrary tendency. "yVhen we wish for sleep,
we naturally endeavor to withhold, as much as possible, all the
active exertions of the mind, by disengaging our attention from
every interesting subject of thought. When we are disposed to

190 DBEAMnra.

keep awake, we natarally fix oar attentioii on some subject
which is calculated to afford employment to our intellectual
powers, or to rouse and exercise the active principles of our
nature.

It is well known, that there is a particular class of $aunds
which compose us to sleep. The hum of bees ; the murmur of
a fountain ; the reading of an uninteresting discourse, have this
tendency in a remarkable degree. If we examine this class of
sounds, we shall find that it consists wholly of such as are fitted
to withdraw the attention of the mind from its own thoughts,
and are, at the same time, not sufficiently interesting to engage
its attention to themselves.

It is also matter of common observation, that children and
persons of little reflection, who are chiefly occupied about sensi-
ble objects, and whose mental activity is, in a great measure,
suspended, as soon as their perceptive powers are unemployed ;
find it extremely difficult to continue awake, when they are
deprived of their usual engagements. The same thing has
been remarked of savages, whose time, like that of the lower
animals, is almost completely divided between sleep and their
bodily exertions,*

The powers dependent an vcUtion suspended during sleep, —
From a consideration of these facts, it seems reasonable to con-
clude that in sleep those operations of the mind are suspended,
which depend on our volition ; for if it be certain, that before
we fall asleep, we must withhold, as much as we are able, the
exercise of all our different powers; it is scarcely to be
imagined, that, as soon as sleep commences, these powers should
again begin to be exerted. The more probable conclusioji is,
that when we are desirous to procure sleep, we bring both mind
and body, as noarly as we can, into that state in which they are

* '' The existence of the negro slaves in America, appears to participate
more of sensation than reflection. To thi^ must be ascribed, their disposi-
tion to sleep when abstracted from their diversions and unemployed in
Jieir labor. An animal whose body is at rest, and who does not reflect,
must be disposed to sleep, of course." — Nates on Virginia, by Mr Jeffier-
ton, p. 225.

DBEAMING. 191

to continue after sleep commences. The difference, therefore,
between the state of the mind when we are inviting sleep, and
when we are actually asleep, is this, — that in the former case,
although its active exertions be suspended, we can renew them,
if we please. In the other case, the will loses its influence over
all our powers, both of mind and body ; in consequence of some
physical alteration in the system, which we shall never, probably,
be able to explain.

In order to illustrate this conclusion a little further, it may be
proper to remark, that if the suspension of our voluntary opera-
tions in sleep be admitted as a &ct, there are only two supposi"
Hans which can be formed concerning its cause. The cne is,
that the power of volition is suspended ; the other j that the will
loses its influence over those faculties of the mind, and those
members of the body, which, during our waking hours, are sub-
jected to its authority. If it can be shown, then, that the former
supposition is not agreeable to fact, the truth of the latter seems
to foUow as a necessary consequence.

1. Volition itself not suspended during sleep, — That the power
of volition is not suspended during sleep, appears from the efforts
which we are conscious of making while in that situation. We
dream, for example, that we are in danger ; and we attempt
to call out for assistance. The attempt, indeed, is, in general,
unsuccessful ; and the sounds which we emit are feeble and
indistinct ; but this only confirms, or rather is a necessary con
sequence of the supposition, that, in sleep, the connection} be-
tween the will and our voluntary operations is disturbed or
interrupted. The continuance of the pow^r of volition is de-
monstrated by the effort, however ineffectual.

In like manner, in the course of an alarming dream, we are
sometimes conscious of making an exertion to save ourselves,
by flight, fh)m an apprehended danger ; but in spite of all our
efforts, we continue in bed. In such cases, we commonly dream
that we are attempting to escape, and are prevented by some
external obstacle ; but the fact seems to be, that the body is, at
that time, not subject to the wilL During the disturbed rest
which we sometimes have when the body is indisposed, the

192 MMAMSM.

ound Bpjpewn to retain 8(»ne power over it ; tmt &s, even hi
these cases, the motions which are made ccmsist rather of a
general agitation of the whole sjstem, than of the regular
exertion of a partictdar member of it, with a view to produce a
certain effect ; it is reasonable to conclude, that in perfecdjr
sound sleep, the mind, although it retains the power of yolition,
retains no influence whatever over the bodily organs.

In that particular condition of the system, which Is known hj
the name of incubus, [or niffhimare,^ we are conscious of a
total want of power over the body ; and, I believe, the common
opinion is, that it is this want of power which distinguishes the
ineuhus from all the other modifications of sleep. But thd
more probable supposition seems to be, that erety species of
sleep is accompanied with a suspension of the faculty of volnit-
tary motion, and that the incubus has nothing peculiar in it bat
this, -— that the uneasy sensations which are produced by the ac-
cidental posture of the body, and which we find it impossible
to remove by our own efforts, render us distinctly conscious of
our incapacity to move. One thing is certain, that the instant
of our awaking, and of our recovering the command of oar
bodily organs, is one and the same.

2. The same concluMon is confirmed by a different view of
the subject. It is probable, as was already observed, that when
we are anxious to procure sleep, the state into which we nata-
rally bring the mind, approaches to its state after sleep com-
mences. Now it is manifest, that the means which nature
directs us to employ on such occasions, is, n6t to sftspertd ths
power of volUiany but to stispend the exertion of those powers
whose exercise depends on volition, J£ it were necessary that
volition should be suspended before we fall asleep, it would be
impossible for us, by our own efforts to hasten the moment of
rest. The very supposition of such efforts is absurd ; for it
implies a continued will to suspend the acts of the wiU.

Sleep affects the mind as it does the body, — According to the
foregoing doctrine with respect to the state of the mind in sleep,
the effect which is produced on our mental operations, is
strikingly analogous to that which is produced on our bodily

po#ers« From tlie obsei^vatiotis which have b^ki ah^adj ntade^
it ifl manifest that in sleep, the body is, in a retj inconsiderable
degree^ if at all, subject to our command. The vital and in-
voluntary motions, however, suffer no interruption, but go on as
when we are awake, in consequence of the operation of some
cause unknown to us. In like manner, it would appear, that
those operations of the mind which depend on our volition are
auspended ; while certain other operations are, at least, occasion-
ally carried on. This analogy naturally suggests the idea, that
aU our mental operations, which are independent of our will,
may continue during sleep ; and that the phenomena of dream-'
ing may, perhaps, be produced by these, diversified in their
apparent effects, in consequence of the suspension of our volun-
tary powers.

If the appearances which the mind exhibits during sleep are
found to be explicable on this general principle, it Will possess
all the evidence which the nature of the subject admits of.

Msw nmch power the wiU has ever the thoughts* — It was
ft^mcrly shown, that the train of thought in the mind does not
depend immeditUefy on our will, but is regulated by certain gen*^
eral laws of association. At the same time, it appeared, that
among the various subjects which thus spontaneously present
themselves to our notice, we have the power of singling out
any one that we choose to consider, and of making it a partic-
ular object of attention ; and that by doing so, we not only can
stop the train that would otherwise have su(>(ieeded, but fre-
quently can divert the current of our thoughts into a new
channeL It also appeared, that we have a power (which may
be much improved by exercise) of recalling past occurrences
to the memory, by a voluntary effort of recolleetion.

The indirect influence which the mind thus possesses over
the train of its thoughts is so great, that during the whole time
we are awake, excepting in those cases in which we fall into
what is called a revery, and suffer our thoughts to follow their
natural course, the order of their succession is always regulated
more or less by the wilL The will, indeed, in regu]|iting the
tfain q[ thought^ can operate oalj (as I have already shown)

17

194 DBEAMmO.

bj avaOing itself of the established laws of assodatiim ; bat
still it has the power of rendering this train verj different from
what it would have been, if these laws had taken place without
its interference.

How dreamM would differ from waking thoughts upon this
theory. — From these principles, combined with the general
fact which I have endeavored to establish, with respect to the
state of the mind in sleep, two obvious consequences follow :
first, that when we are in this situation, the succession of our
thoughts, in so far as it depends on the laws of association,
maj be carried on hj the operation of the same unknown
causes bj which it is produced while we are awake; and,
secondly^ that the order of our thoughts, in these two states of
the mind, must be very different ; inasmuch as, in the one, it
depends solely on the laws of cusociationy and in the other, on
these laws combined with our own voluntary exertions*

In order to ascertain how far these conclusions are agreeable
to truth, it is necessary to compare them with the known
phenomena of dreaming. For which purpose, I shall endeavor
to show, first, that the succession of our thoughts in sleep, is
regulated by the same general laws of association, to which it
is subjected while we are awake; and, secondly, that the
circumstances which discriminate dreaming &om our waking
thoughts, are such as must necessarily arise from the suspension
of the influence of the will.

I. That ^ succession of our thoughts in sleep, is regulated by
the same general laws of association, which influence the mind
while we are awake, appears from the following considerations.

1. Our dreams are frequently suggested to us by bodily senses
tions ; and with these, it is well known, from what we experience
while awake, that particular ideas are frequently very strongly
associated. I have been told by a friend, that, having occasion,
in consequence of an indisposition, to apply a bottle of hot
water to his feet when he went to bed, he dreamed that he was
making a journey to the top of Mount iBtna, and that he found
the heat of the ground almost insupportable. Another person,
having a blister applied to his head, dreamed that he wai

DBSAMINO. 195

Bcalped hj a party of Indians. I believe every one who is in
the habit of dreaming, will recollect instances, in' his own case,
of a similar nature.

2. Our dreams are influenced h/ the prevailing temper of the
mind; and vary, in their complexion, according as our habitual
disposition, at the time, inclines us to cheerfulness or to melan-
choly. Not that this observation holds without exception ; but
it holds so generally, as must convince us, that the state of our
spirits has some effect on our dreams, as well as on our waking
thoughts. Indeed, in the latter case, no less than in the former,
this effect may be counteracted, or modified by various other
circumstances.

After having made a narrow escape from Any alarming
danger, we are apt to awake, in the course of our sleep, with
sudden startings ; imagining that we are drowning, or on the
brink of a precipice. A severe misfortune, which has affected
the mind deeply, influences our dreams in a similar way ; and
suggests to us a variety of adventures, ancdogous, in some
measure, to that event from which our distress arises. Such,
according to Virgil, were the dreams of the forsaken Dido.

- Agit ipse furentem

In somnis feros ^neas ; semperqne relinqni
Sola sibi ; semper longam incomitata vidctur
Ire viam, et Tyrios desertft quaerere terra.'*

3. Our dreams are influenced hy our prevailing habits of oi^
tocioHon while awake.

In a former part of this work, I considered the extent of
that power which the mind may acquire over the train of its
thoughts; and I observed, that those intellectual diversities
among men, which we commonly refer to peculiarities of genius,
are, at least in a great measure, resolvable into differences in
their habits of association. One man possesses a rich and
beautiful fancy, which is at all times obedient to his wilL An-
other possesses a quickness of recollection, which enables him,
at a moment's warning, to bring together all the results of his
past experience, and of his past reflections, which can be of

196 DasAHnr«.

use for Ulnstnidng any proposed subject A third eati, withoot
effi>rt, ooUeet his attention to the most abstract questions in
philosophy; can perceive, at a glance, the shortest and the
most effectnal process for arriving at the truth ; and can banish
from his inind every extraneous idea, which £ancy or casual
association may suggest, to distract his thoughts or to mislead
his judgment A fourth unites all these powers in a capacity
of perceiving truth with an almost intuitive rapidity ; and in an
eloquence which enables him to command, at pleasure, whatever
his memory and his fancy can supply, to illustrate and to adorn
it The occasional exercise which such men make of their
powers, may undoubtedly be said, in one sense, to be unpre*
meditated or tinstudied ; but they all indieate previous hMu of
meditation or study, as unquestionably as tiie dexterity of thd
expert accountant, or tiie rapid execution of the professiimal
musician.

From what has been said, it is evident, that a train of thought
which, in one man, would require a painful effort of study, may,
in another, be almost spontaneous ; nor is it to be doubted that
the reveries of studious men, even when they allow, as much as
they can, their thoughts to foUow their own course, are more or
less connected together by those principles of association, which
tilieir &vorite pursuits tend more particularly to strengthen.

The influence of the same habits may be traced distinctly in
sleep. There are probably few mathematicians, who have not
dreamed of an interesting problem, and who have not even
fancied that they were prosecuting the investigation of it with
much success* They whose ambition leads them to the study
of eloquence, are frequentiy conscious, during sleep^ of a re-
newal of their daily occupations ; and sometimes feel themselves
possessed of a fluency of speech, which they never experienced
before. The poet, in his dreams, is transported into Elysium^
and leaves the vulgar and unsatisfactory enjoyments of hu-
manity, to dwell in those regions of enchantment and rapture,
which have been created by the divine imaginations of Virgil
and of Tassa

DBEAHINO. 197

** And hiliher Morpheus sent his kindest dreams,
Raising a world of gayer tinct and grace ;
0*er which were shadowy cast Elysian gleams.
That play'd, in waving lights, from place to place.
And shed a roseate smile on Nature's face.
Not Titian's pencil e'er could so array,
So fleece with clouds the pore ethereal space ;
Nor could it e'er such melting forms display.
As loose on flowery beds all languishingly lay.
No, fair illusions ! artful phantoms, no 1
My muse will not attempt your fMiy land :
She has no colors, that like yours can glow ;
To catch your vivid scenes, too gross her hand." ^-

Ckistle of Indolence,

As a further proof that the succession of our thoughts in
dreaming, is influenced bj our prevailing habits of association,
it may be remarked, that the scenes and occurrences which most
frequently present themselves to the mind while we are asleep,
are the scenes and occurrences of childhood and early youth. The
facility of association is then much greater than in*more advanced
years ; and although, during the day, the memory of the events
thus associated may be banished by the objects and pursuits
which press upon our senses, it retains a more permanent hold
of the mind than any of our subsequent acquisitions ; and like
the knowledge which we possess of our mother tongue, is, as it
were, interwoven and incorporated with all its most essential
habits.* Accordingly, in old men, whose thoughts are, in a
great measure, disengaged from the world, the transactions of
their middle age, which once seemed so important, are often
obliterated ; while the mind dweUs, as in a dream, on the spots
and the companions of their infancy.

I shall only observe further, on this head, that in our dreams,
as well as when awake, we occasionally make use of words as
an instrument of thought Such dreams, however, do not affect
the mind with such emotions of pleasure and of pain, as those
in which the imagination is occupied with particular objects of
sense. The effect of philosophical studies, in habituating the
mind to the almost constant employment of this instrument, and,
of consequence, its effect in weakening the imagination, was for*

17*

merly remark^* If I am not mistaken, the infloenee of tbeae
circamstanoes maj^ also be traced In the historj of our dreams ;
which, in youth, commonlj inTolve, in a much greater degree,
the exercise of imagination ; and affect the mind with much
more powerful emotions, than when we begin to employ our
maturer faculties in more general and abstract speculations.

II. From these different observations, we are authorized to
conclude, that the same laws of association which regulate the
train of our thoughts while we are awake, continue to operate
during sleep. I now proceed to consider, how far the circumr
stances which diicriminaU dreaming from mtr waking thoughts
correspond with those which might be expected to result from
the suspension of Uie influence of the wilL

1. If the influence of the will be suspended during sleep, aL
our vehmtary operatianSf sueh as recollection, reasonings etc,
must also be suspended.

That this really is the case, the extrayagance and inconsis-
tency of our dreams are sufficient proofs. We frequently con-
found together times and places the most remote from each
other ; and in the course of the same dream, conceive the same
person as existing in different parts of the world. Sometimes
we imagine ourselves conversing with a dead fHend, withoul
remembering the circumstance of his death, although, perhiqM^
it happened but a few days before, and affected us deeply. AU
this proves clearly, that the subjects which then occupy out
thoughts are such as present themselves to the mind spontan*
eously ; and that we have no power of employing our reason in
comparing together the different parts of our dreams ; or even
of exerting an act of recollection in order to ascertain how far
they are consistent and possible.

The process of reasoning in which we sometimes fancy our-
selves to be engaged during sleep, furnish no exception to the
foregoing observation ; for, although every such process, the
first time we form it, implies volition ; and, in particular, implies
a recollection of the premises, till we arrive at the condnsion i
yet, when a number of truths have been <^n presented to us
as necessarily connected with each other, this series may after

wards pass tiuroagh the mkid, according to the kwiB of associa*
tioQ, without anj more activitj on our part, than in those trains
of thought which are the most loose and* incoherent. Nor is
this mere theory. I maj venture to appeal to the consciousness
of every man accustomed to dream, whether his reasonings
during sleep do not seem to be carried on without any exertion
of his will ; and with a degree of facility of which he was never
conscioas while awake. Mr. Addison, in one of his Spectators,
has made this obsei^ation ; and his testimony, in the present
instance, is of the greater weighty that he had no particular
theory on the subject tosapport. ^ There is not,'* says he, ^ a
BAore painful action of the mind than invention ; yet in dreams
it works with that ease and activity, that we are not sensible
when the faculty is employed. For instance, I believe every
one, some time or other, dreams that he is reading papers, books,
or letters ; in which case the invention prompts so readily that
the mind is imposed (m, and mistakes its own suggestions for
the composition of another.**

2. If the influence of the will during sleep be suspended, ths
mind toiR remain as ptanve, while its thoughts change from one
subject to another, as it does during our waking hours, while dif-
ferent perceptible objects are presented to our senses.

Of this passive state of the mind in our dreams it is unneces^
sary to multiply proofs ; as it has always been considered as
one of the most extraordinary circumstances with which they
are accompanied. If our dreams, as well as our waking thoughts
were subject to the will, is it not natural to conclude, that in the
one case, as well as in the other, we would endeavor to banish,
as much as we could, every idea which had a tendency to dis*
turb us ; and detain those only which we found to be agreeable ?
So &r, however, is this power over our thoughts fit>m being
exercised, that we are frequently oppressed, in spite of all our
efforts to the contrary, with dreams which affect us with the
most painful emotions. And, indeed, it is matter of vulgar
remark, that our dreams are, in every case, invduntarif on our
part, and that they appear to be obtruded on us by scHse external
cause. This fact appeared so unaccountable to the lat^ Mr.

fOO ]>BBA]nKa.

Baxter, tliat it gave rise to his verj whimsical theory, in whicb
he ascribes dreams to the immediate infiaence of separate spirits
on the mind.

8. If the influence of the will be suspended during sleep, the
eancepttofu which we then form of sensible objects will be
attended with a belief of their real existence, as much as the
perception of the same objects is while we are awake.

In treating of the power of conception, I formerly obserred,
that our belief of the separate and independent existence of the
objects of our perceptions, is the result of experience ; which
teaches us that these perceptions do not depend on our will If
I open my eyes, I cannot prevent myself from seeing the pros-
pect before me. The case is different with respect to oar oon*
ceptions. While they occupy the mind, to the exclusion of
every thing else, I endeavored to show, that they are always
accompanied with belief: but as we can banish them from the
mind, during our waking hours, at pleasure ; and as the momen^
ary belief which they produce, is continually checked by the
surrounding objects of our perceptions, we learn to consider
them as fictions of our own creation ; and, excepting in some
accidental cases, pay no regard to them in the conduct of life.
If the doctrine, however, formerly stated with respect to concep-
tion be just, and if, at the same time, it be allowed, that sleep
suspends the influence of the will over the train of our thoughts,
we should naturally be led to expect, that the same belief which
accompanies conception while we are awake, should aooompanj
the perceptions which occur to us in our dreams. It is scarcely
necessary for me to remark, how strikingly this conclusion coin-
cides with acknowledged facts.

May it not be considered as some confirmation of the foregoing
doctrine, that when opium fails in producing complete sleep, it
commonly produces one of the effects of sleep, by suspending
the activity of the mind, and throwing it into a revery ; and that
while we are in this state, our conceptions frequently affect us
nearly in the same manner, as if the objects conceived were
present to our senses ? — (See the Baron de Tott's Account of
the Opium-takers at Coantantinople.)

DREAMING. 20l

Anolihev* circumstance with respect to our conceptions dur ng
sleep, deserves our notice. As the subjects which we then think .
upon occupy the mind exclusively ; and as the attention is not
diverted by the objects of our external senses, <mr conceptions
must he proporttanabfy lively and stecufy. Every person knows
how faint the conception is which we form of any thing, with
our eyes open, in comparison of what we can form with our
eyes shut ; and that, in proportion as we can suspend the exer-
cise of aU our other senses, the liveliness of our conception
increases. To this cause is to be ascribed, in part, the effect
which the dread of spirits in the daik has on some persons, who
are fully convinced in speculation that their apprehensions are
groundless ; and to this, also, is owing the effect of any accidental
perception in giving them a momentary relief from their terrors.
Hence the remedy which nature points out to us, when we find
ourselves overpowered by imagination. K every thing around
us be silent, we endeavor to create a noise by speaking aloud,
or beating with our feet ; that is, we strive to divert the atten-
tion from the subjects of our imagination, by presenting an
object to our powers of perception. The conclusion which I
draw from these observations is, that as there is no state of the
body in which our perceptive powers are so totally unemployed
as in sleep, it is natural to think that the objects which we con-
ceive or imagine, must then make an impression on the mind
beyond comparison greater than any thing of which we can have
experience while awake.

From these principles may be derived a simple, and, I think,
a satisfactory, explanation of what some writers have repre-
sented as the most mysterious of all the circumstances connected
with dreaming ; the inaccurate estimates we are apt to form of
time, while we are thus employed ; — an inaccuracy which some-
times extends so far, as to give to a single instant the appearance
of hours, or perhaps of days. A sudden noise, for example,
suggests a dream connected with that perception; and, the
moment afterwards, this noise has the effect of awaking us ;
and yet, during that momentary interval, a long series of cir-
cumstanc es has passed before the imagination. The stQry quoted

109 DBEA1IIH0.

by Mr. AddisoQ, (Spectator, No. 94,) from the Turkisk Talesi
V the miracle wrought bj a Mahometan doctor to conTioce aa
infidel suhan, is, in such cases, nearly yerified.

The facts I allude to at present are generally ex{4ained by
supposing, that, in our dreams, the rapidity of thought is greater
than while we are awake ; but there is no necessity for haying
recourse to such a supposition. The rapidity of thought is, at
all times, such, that in the twinkling of an eye a crowd i^ ideas
may pass before us, to which it would require a long discourse
to giye utterance ; and transactions may be conceiyed, which it
would require days to realize. But, in sleep, the ccmoeptions
of the mind are mistaken for realities ; and therefore oar esti*
mates of time will be formed, not according to our expenence
of the rapidity of thought, but according to our experience of
the time requisite for realizing what we oonceiye. Something
perfectly analogous to this may be remarked in the perceptions
we obtain by the sense of sight When I look into a ubQwAxa,
where the deception is imperfect, I see only a set of paltij
daubings of a few inches diameter; but if the representation
be executed with so much skill, as to conyey to me the idea of
a distant prospect, eyery object before me swells in its dimen-
sions, in proportion to the extent of space which I conceiye it
to occupy ; and what seemed before to be shut up within the
Hmits of a small wooden frame, is magnified, in my apprehen-
sion, to an immense landscape of woods, riyers, and mountains.

The phenomena of partial sleep. — The phenomena which we
h»ye hitherto explained, take place when sleep seems to be
complete ; that is, when the mind loses its influence oyer all
those powers whose exerdse depends on its wilL There are,
howeyer, many cases in which sleep seems to be partial ; thai
is, when the mind loses its influence oyer 9otne powers, and
retains it oyer others. In the case of the somnamhdi^ it retains
its power oyer the limbs, but it possesses no influence oyer its
own thoughts, and scarcely any oyer the body ; excepting those
particular members of it which are employed in walking. In
tnadnessy the power of the will oyer the body remains undimin*
iahed» while its influenoa in regnlating the train of U^mght ia

•in a great measare suspeaded ; either in oonsoquenoe of a par«
ticular idea, which engrosses the aUention, to the exclusion of
everj: thing else, and which we find it impossible to banish by
our efforts ; or in consequence of our thoughts succeeding each
other with such rapidity, that we are unable to stop the train.
In both of these kinds of madness, it is worthy of remark, that
the conceptions or imaginations of the mind becoming inde-
pendent df our will, they are apt to be mistaken for actual per^
ceptions, and to affect us in the same manner.*

* [About ten years ago, the editor of this Tolume attempted to extend
to the case of itucmity the hypothesis which Stewart has here so pleasingly
expounded in relation to dreaming. The following is the substance of the
remarks, which, in the execution of this purpose, were then published in a
periodical work.

It seems to us^ that the most characteristic trait of insanity is a loss of
the indirect controlling power which the totff usually exercises over the pro-
pensities and the processes of the understanding. We call this power in-
direct, because the will cannot Munediiitely g<»Yem the belief, or the suc-
cession of ideas, so as to give distinctness to an imperfect recollection, or
to put aside an nnpleaaant thought. Bat it can indirecUy labor to these
ends, and human reason difitsrs from bmte instinct in no respect so much
as in this sovereignty, partial though It be, which the will and the conscience
exercise over the swift currents of the thoughts, and die impulse of the
desires. This is chiefly done through the faculty of attention, which is
directly dependent on the will. We can stay the succession of ideas at
any instant, in order to dwell upon a selected thought, till we have con-
sidered it in all its parts and relations. Comparison itself has been rightly
defined as an act of eUtemate attention to two objects ; and it is therefore
impaired or lost only when we cease to have command of the attention,
because the will in this respect has become powerless. We distinguish
fancies from realities only by an effort of attention to our sensations,
which manifest the difierence between the imaginary and the true. If cir-
cumstances prevent us from making this effort, we live in an unreal world,
heedless and unconscious of external things. The same relaxation of the
power of the will, by which mental phenomena are converted into real
existences, removes all control and guidance from the thoughts, which
then become confused and incoherent, a mere stream of inconsistent fiin-
cies. It is so in dreams ; every sleeper is a madman, and would appear
as such, if the will did not lose its power over the body also, so diat action
no longer manifests the delusions of the intellect. In the case of t
nambnlism, the mnsdes remain subject to the voHtions of Aa

204 DBEAMDIO.

Bj ineans «f this supposition of a partial sleep, anj appar-
ent exceptions which the history of dreams may afford to the

while the mind is under no control. The somnambulist is, therefore, really
insane, and, as such, the law does not hold him responsible for his deeds.
To remove the check which the will has oyer the thoughts is like taking
awaf the balance-wheel from a watch, which then runs down with a hur-
ried and irregular motion, no longer taking note of time. Every thinker
perceives this effect, if he abandons himself to a fit of reverie, when the
most heterogeneous ideas chase each other in quick succession through the
mind, without coherency or method, and leaving hardly a trace on the
memory. Startle him from this state* of dreamy abstraction, and he looka
round bewildered, and requires a moment of effort, before he becomes
conscious of his situation, and of the presence of surrounding things. Ex-
cept the depression of spirits, he feels, for an instant, as Lear did, when
wakening to a gleam of sanity, as the clouds which had obscured his in-
tellect were for a moment parted. How admirably are the bewilderment
of mind, and the effort to recall and fix the attention upbn the bystanders,
here depicted ! It is the struggle of the will to regain its supremacy.

" Pray, do not mock me :
I am a very foolish, fond old man,
Fourscore and upward ; and, to deal plainly,
I fear I am not in my perfect mind.
Methinks I should know yon, and know this man ;
Yet I am doubtful : for I am mainly ignorant
What place this is ; and all the skill I have
Remembers not these garments ; nor I know not
Where I did lodge last night. Do not laugh at me ;
For, as I am a man, I think this lady
To be my child Cordelia."

In most cases of recovery, the patient retains no memory of what has oc-
curred, or what he has done during his madness ; or, if any recollection re-
mains, it is dim and perturbed, like that of a dream. Memory being depen-
dent on attention, and that again on the will, this is precisely what we
should expect when the power of volition is suspended. In cases of partial
mania, the will loses its control over a particular thought, or set of ideas,
which then occupy and harass the mind, being invested with a fiictitious
importance, and leading to the most insane acts. A sane person, if an
unpleasant thought or recollection comes upon him, can resolutely pat it
aside, and fix his attention upon other objects. But if he be nervous and
imaginative, irresolute of will, and defective in the power of attention, the
unwelcome visitant — especially if it be of a gloomy or exciting chaiactcr.

DXBJLHnro. 205

general prindples already stated, admit of an easy ezplar
natioii.

like the recollection of a calamity, a disapfpointment, or an insalt— »
usurps almost exclnsive possession of the mind, and he sinks into habitual
despondency. Eyery moment then increases his danger ; and unless some
counteracting' cause, like the necessity for exertion, be applied, the train of
thought at last entirely shakes off the soTereignty of the will, and thetnan
becomes a monomaniac

The particular diaracter of the delusion will be determined by tihe
patient's former prerailing turn of mind, and by the diief emotions to
which he was subject A man's character is not altered by an attack of
insanity ; it is only deyeloped and exposed, the check whidt was usually
imposed on its free manifestations being now taken away. A person of
sound mind soon learns to control his desires and propensities, from a re-
gard to the opinions or the rights of others. His irascibility is repressed,
his estimation of himself is carefully concealed, his lower appetites are
govemed, and he maintains that reserred and staid demeanor, through
which only a penetrating eye, and observation sharpened by long experi-
ence, can detect the innate peculiarities of his disposition. This lesson of
self-control is learned at so early a period, and is practised upon so habitu-
ally, that one is hardly conscious of effi>rt in submitting to it, unless the
primitive desires are of extraordinary force. Let the power of the will ht
destroyed by an attack of mental disease, and this veil is removed ; thai
passions run riot, the leading emotion betrays itself in the grossest manner,
and the sufferer appears like another being, even to his most intimate
friends.

The love of power, and an inordinate estimate of self, are among tihe
most common infirmities of human nature ; and nowhere are they so
strikingly exhibited, though in a ludicrous light, as among the inmates of
a lunatic asylum. Here comes a king of shreds and patches, with a paper
crown on bis head, and bits of .tinsel showily disposed about his person,
who announces himself as the Prince of Wales and emperor of the world,
and greets his visitor with the utmost condescension, as he would a subject
wbo had come to do him homage. But he suddenly breaks off in the
midst of a pompous speech, to inform you, that he has just had a contest
with the devil in that apartment, and had broken two of his ribs, — iJiia
devil being an unfortunate keeper, to whose face he had taken a dislike,
and who've bones he had actually broken. The walls of his room are
scribbled all over, chiefly with the lofty titles of his greatness ; as, ** Su-
preme from the Almighty," " Mighty Prince," " Mighty General-in-C5hief,'*
** Great Mighty Grand Admiral," and the like.* Another of the company

• OODoUy on Intanibf^ p. 289.
18

806 DBSAaONa*

Upon reviewing the foregoing obserrations, it does not occof
to me that I have in anj instance transgressed those roles of

Ifl a poor, mad anthor, who, in one honr, has written an epic, embracing tiie
aniyenal history of Greece and Rome ; has restored the Iliad to its state
as it came from the genios of Kanki, who lived many millions of ages he>
fore the deluge of Ogyges ; and accounts for his wonderful endowments,
by saying that he is a son of Jupiter and Juno. Scott has given us an
admirable portrait of a deranged female, whose brainsick fancies are only
the foibles of the weaker part of her sex, grossly exaggerated, and dis-
played without the least reserve. Madge Wildfire is insane from an ex«
oessive love of admiration, and an insatiable desire to dazzle and captivate;
and in all her ravings, her simpering manner, her fiintastic costume, and hits
of finery, we see only the ruling passion divested of any covering or control.

The strange jumble of fimcies, which a dbtracted person exhibits, seems
to be only the perfectly loose and casual succession of ideas in a mind
which has emancipated itself from the governing power of the wiH. It is
precisely the incoherency of a dream, when the thoughts ramble on with-
out any restraint from volition, or any voluntary pause for the exercise of
judgment. The utteriy passive intellect merely reflects like a mirror the
images that float before it, without receiving any impression from them, or
preserving any trace of their passage. Outward objects have no longer
their usual power to check the current of loose thoughts, and recall the
mind to a consciousness of its situation ; the sleeper does not see them,
and the insane person, from the defect in his will, can pay no attention to
them. The dream of the madman lasts longer ; but in every other respect,
it is like the night-visions of the perfectly healthy intellect. He has the
command of his limbs, also ; but he walks in his sleep, and has as little
perception of external things as the common somnambulist*

The application of this theory to the cases of moral idiocy and impulsive
insanity may be easily made. Our position is, that mental disease is noth
ing more than the suspension of the ordinary power of the will over th«
other powers of the mind. The thoughts and actions then become entirely
irrational, not because reason and judgment, properly speaking, cease to
exist, but because they are both acts consequent upon attention, and, of
course, cannot manifest themselves when the attention is no longer under
control. These noble faculties, then, neither decay nor are subject to dis-
ease ; they are simply suspended from the exercise of their functions, by
the impairment of another power which is a prerequisite to their use ; and
when the madman's sleep is ended, they revive and perform their aocua-
tomed office. In the same way, the loss of power in the will suspends the
exercise of the moral faculty. In moral mania, the conscience " is not
dead, but sleepeth." The desires and propensities then exist with no
more than their usual force ; but they are entirely free from restraint by

DBEAHING. 207

philosophizing which, since the time of ^lewton, are commonly
appealed to, as the tests of sound investigation. For, in the
first place, I have not supposed anj causes which are not
known to exist ; and, secondly, I have shown, that the phenom-
ena mider our consideration are necessary consequences of the
causes to' which I have' referred them. I have not supposed
that the mind acquires in sleep any new faculty of which we
are not conscious while awake ; but only (what we know to be
a fact) that it retains some of its powers, while the exercise of
others is suspended ; and I have deduced synthetically the known
phenomena of dreaming, from the operation of a particular
class of our faculties, uncorrected by the operation of another.
I flatter myself, therefore, that this inquiry will not only throw
some light on the state of the mind in sleep ; but that it will
have a tendency to illustrate the mutual adaptation and sub*
eerviency which exist among the different parts of our consti-
tution, when we are in complete possession of all the Acuities
and principles which belong to our nature.*

the will. An the active principles of oar nature then reign unchecked,
and one is quite as likely to be governed by the more noble, as by the more
debasing, among their number. In an instance described by Pinel, brutal
and violent as were most of the actions of the young man, we learn thai
he readily- gave way, at times, to motions of beneficence and compassion.
He was literally the creature of his impulses, and blindly followed them,
whether they pointed to good or evil. His condition, then, was very like
that of other maniacs, who are commonly said to be subject to insane im*
pulses ; only, in his case, the will seemed to be absolutely bereft of its
rightful authority over the passions, while in theirs, it is poweriess only at
intervals, or under particular excitement. Strictly speiddng, the impulH
is not a mark of insanity, nor unusual in its character. The thought of
killing may frequently enter the mind of a passionate, but perfectly sane,
person ; but it is instantly put aside, as an idle or wicked fiincy, by the
conscience. The will masters such vag^e but horrible thoughts, almost
without the consciousness of effort. But as the gradual approach of dis-
ease weakens Its command over the succession of ideas, the devilish
thought intrudes more frequently, and will not " down at his bidding.'^
An air-drawn dagger becomes visible to the " heatoppressed brain," and
the patient clutches the real weapon at last, in what is, for the moment,
tn uncontrollable frenzy.]
• Soon after the publication of the first edition of this work, a difficulty

106 THX INFLUBlfGE OV CA8I7AL ASSOGIATIONB.

PART IL

or THB INFLUENCE OF ASSOCIATION ON THE nTTELLECTUAl
AND ON THE ACTITE POWEBS.

"L Of the injluenee of easwd a$$oei€Uum$ an our speculative
eonchuioHi. — The association of ideas has a tendency to warp
our speciilatiye opinions chiefly in the three following ways : —

was started to me with respect to my condnsions eonceming the state of
the mind in sleep, by my excellent friend M. Provost, of Genera ; ageatlo'
man who has long held a high rank in the republic of letters, and to whose
valuable correspondence I have often been indebted for much pleasure and
instruction. The same difficulty was proposed to me, nearly about the
same time, by another friend, [Dr. Thomas Brown,] then at a yery eariy
period of life, who has since honorably distinguished himself by his observa
tions on Dr. Darwin's Zoonomia ; the first fruits of a philosophical genius,
which, I trust, is destined for yet more important undertakings.''

As M. Prevost has, in the present instance, kindly aided me in the task
of removing his own objection, I shall take the liberty to borrow his words.

[« Without the action of the will, there can be no effort of attention ;
without some effort of attention, there can be no memory. Now, in sleep,
the action of the will is suspended. How, then, can there be any recollec-
tion of dreams 1

" I see there are two or three solutions of this difficulty ; for the present,
they are reduced to this observation, either that in perfect sleep there is no
recollection, and when we do recollect, that our sleep was not perfect; or
that the action of the will which is sufficient for memory, is not suspended
during sleep, — that this degree of activity remains to the mind, being, as it
were, an elementary and almost imperceptible volition."]

I am abundantly sensible of the force of this objection ; and am far from
being satisfied, that it is in my power to reconcile completely the apparent
Inconsistency. The general conclusions, at the same time, to which I have
been led, seem to result so necessarily from the facts I have stated, that even
although the difficulty in question should remain for the pi^sent unsolved,
it would not, in my opinion, materially affect the evidence on whidi they
rest In all onr inquiries, it is of consequence to remember, that when we
have once arrived at a general principle by a careful induction, we are not
entitled to reject it, because we may find ourselves unable to explain from
It, synthetically, all the phenomena in which it is concerned. The New-

XHB mFLUXVCB OF CASUAL ASBOCUTWWB. 309

JPSir s^ hj blencBng togeUier in our apprehenskms things which
are reallj distinct in their nature ; so as to introduce perplexity
and error into eyerj process of reasoning in. which they are
inyolyed*

Secondly, by misleading us in those anticipations of the fu-
ture from the past, which our constitution disposes us to form,
and which are the great foundation of our ccmduct in life.

Thirdly, by ocmnecting in the mind erroneous opinions with
truths whidi irresistibly command our assent, and which we feel
to be of importance to human happiness.

A short illustration of these remarks will throw light on the
origin of various prejudices ; and may, perhaps, suggest some
practical hints with respect to the conduct of the understanding.

1. JMoeiaHan often Nends toyeiher' things which are realty
distinct — I formerly had occasion to mention several instances
of very intimate associations formed between two ideas which
have no necessary connection with each other. One of the most
remarkable is, that which exists in every person's mind between
the notions of color and of extension. The former of these
words expresses (at least in the sense in which we commonly
employ it) a sensation in the mind; the latter denotes a qitaHiy
of an external object ; so that there is, in &ct, no more oonnectica
between the two notions than between those of pain and of
solidity;* and yet, in consequence of our always perceiving

tonian theory of the tides is not the less certain, that some apparent excep-
tions occur to it^ of which it is not easy (in consequence of our imperfect
knowledge of the local circmnstances by which, in particnlar cases, the
effect is modified) to give a satb&ctory explanation. '

Of the solutions suggested by M. Provost, the first coincides most nearly
with my own opinion; and it approaches to what I hare hinted (in page
202 of this work) concerning the seeming exceptibns to my doctrine, which
may occur in those cases wliere deep is partiai, A strong confirmation of
it, undoubtedly, may be deriTed from the experience of those persons,
(several of whom I have happened to meet with,) who never recollect to
have dreamed, excepting when the soundness of their sleep was disturbed
by some derangement in their general heidth, or by some accident which
excited a bodily sensation.

* Dr. Beid has, with great truth, observed, that Bes Cartes' reasonings
Igainst the existence of the secondary qualities of matter, owe all their

18*

SIO TBI IMFLnSirCB OF OAStTAI. ASSOCULTlOirB.

extenaaoD, at the same time at which the sensation of coW is
excited in the mind, we find it impossible to think of that sal-
tation, without conceiving extension along with it

Another intimate association is formed in every mind between
the ideas ofipaee and of time. When we think of an interval
of duration, we always conceive it as something analogous to a

plausibility to tiie ambiguity of words. When he affimu, for example,
tiiat the amell of a rose is not in the flower, bat in die mind, his proposi-
tion amoonts only to this, that the rose is not consoioas of the sensation
of smell ; bnt it does not follow from Des Cartes' reasonings, that there is
no quality in the rose iHiich excites the sensation of smell in the mind; —
which is all that any person means when he speaks of the smell of that
flower. For the word smell, like the names of all secondary qualities,
signifies two thingt, a sensation in tiie mind, and the unknown quality
which fits it to excite that sensation. The same xemaii: applies to tiiat
process of reasoning by which Des Cartes attempts to prove that there is
no heat in the fire.

AU this, I think, will be readily allowed with respect to smells and
tastes, and also with respect to heat and cold ; concerning which, I agree
witii Dr. Seid, in thinking that Des Cartes' doctrine, when deaied of that
air of mystery which it derives from the ambiguity of words, dafiers Tery
little, if at all, firom the commonly received notions. But tiie case seems
to be difibrent with respect to colon, of the nature of which the vulgar are
apt to form a very confused conception, which the philosophy of Des
Cartes has a tendency to correct. Dr. Beid has justiy distinguished the
gmdifyf of color from what he calls the appearance of color, which last can
only exist in a mind. Now I am disposed to believe, that when the vn^ar
speak of color, tiiey commonly mean the appearance of color; or ratiier they
associate the appearance and its cause so intimately together, that they
find it impossible to think of them separately. The sensation of color
never forms one simple object of attention to tiie mind, like those of smell
and taste ; but every time we are conscious of it, we perceive at the same
time extension and figure. Hence it is, that we find it impossible to con-
ceive color without extension, though certainly there is no more necessary
eonnection between tiiem, than between extension and smell.

From this habit of associating the two together, we are led also to assign
them the same place, and to conceive the different colors, or, to use Dr.
Beid's language, tiie appearance of the different colors, as sometiiing
spread over the surfaces of bodies. I Own, that when we reflect on the
subject witii attention, we find this conception to be indistinct, and see
clearly that the appearance of color can exist only in a mind ; but still it
is some confosed notion of this sort, which every man is disposed to fona

¥HB INFLUENCE OF CASUAL ASSOCIATIONS. 211

fine, and we apply the same language to both subjects. We
speak of a long and short time, as well as of a hng and 9hni
distance; and we are not conscious of any metaphor in doing
so. Nay, so very perfect does the analogy appear to us, that
Boscovich mentions it as a curious circumstance, that extension
should have Ikree dimensions, and duration only one.

This apprehended analogy seems to be founded wholly on an
association between the ideas of space and of time, arising from
our always measuring the one of these quantities by the other.
We measure time by motion, and motion by extension. In an
hour, the hand of the clock moves over a certain space ; in two
hours, over double the space ; and so on. Hence the ideas of
space and of time become very intimately united, and we apply
to the latter the words long and short, before and after j in the
same manner as to the former.

The apprehended analogy between the relation which the
different notes in the scale of music bear to each other, and the
relation of superiority and inferiority, in respect of position,
among material objects, arises also from an accidental associa-
tion of ideas.

What this association is founded upon, I shall not take upon
me to determine ; but that it is the effect of accident, appears
clearly from this, that it has not only been confined to particular

who has not been rery familiarly conyersant with philosophical inquiries. —
I find, at least, that such is die notion ^diich most readily presents itself
to my own mind.

Nor is this reference of the sensation, or appearance, of color to an
external object, a fiict altogether singular in oar constitution. It is ex-
tremely analogous to tiie reference, which we always make, of the sensations
of touch to those parts of tiie body where tiie exciting causes of the sen-
sations exist. If I strike my hand against a hard object, I naturally say,
that I feel pain in my hand. The philosophical truth is, that I perceive
ihe cause of the pain to be applied to that part of my body. The sen-
sation itself I cannot refer, in point of place, to the hand, witiiout conceiv-
ing the soul to be spread over the body by diffusion.

A still more striking analogy to the fact under our consideration, occurs
in those sensations of touch which we refer to a place beyond the limits of
tiie body ; as in the case of pain felt in an amputated limb.

21S XHB HVlXUSirOE Of casual AflSOOIATIOVflU

ages and natioiiSy but is the yeiy reyene of an as8ociatk»i
wfaidi was once equallj prevalent. It is observed by Dr.
Gregory, in the preface to his edition of Euclid's works, that
the more ancient of the Greek writers looked upon graiw sounds
its high^ and acuU ones as low ; and that the present mode of
xpression on that subject was an innovation introduced at a
later period.*

In the instances which have now been menti<Mied9 our habits
of combming the notions of two things become so strong, thai
we find it impossible to think of the one, without thinking at the
same tune of the other. Various other examples of the same
species of combination, although, perhaps, not altogether so
striking in degree, might easily be collected from the subjects
about which our metaphysical speculations are employed. The
iemati&M^ for instance, which are excited in the mind by exter-
nal objeds, and the percepHans of material qualities which follow
these sensations, are to be distinguished from each other onlj
by long habitfl of patient reflection. A dear conception of this
distinction may be regarded as the key to all Dr. Beid's reason-
ings concerning the process of nature in perception ; and till it
has once been rendered familiar to the reader, a great part of
his writings must appear unsatis&ctory and obscure. In trutJi^
our progress in the philosophy of the human mind depends
much more on that severe and discriminating judgment, which

* The association to which, in modern time*, we are habituated from
oar infancy, betweto the ideas of acute and high, and between those of
grave and low, is accoonted for by Dr. Smith, in. his Harmonics^ from the
formation of the Toice in singing ; [the deep or grave sounds appearing to
come from the lower part of the throat, and the acnte or sharp notes ficom
above.]

Dr. Beattie, in his ingenious essay on poetry and music, says it is prob-
able that the deepest or gravest sound was called summa by the Romans,
and the shrillest or acutest una ; and he conjectures, that " this might have
been owing to the construction of their instruments ; the string that
sounded the former being perhaps highest in place, and that which
sounded the latter lowest." If this coigecture could be verified, it would
afford a proof from the fiict, how liable the mind is to be influenced ia
this respect by casual combinations.

THE IKFLUENCE OF CASUAL ASSOCIATIONS. 218

enables us to separate ideas which nature or habit have imme-
diately combined, than on acuteness of reasoning or fertility of
invention. And hence it is; that metaphysical studies are the
best of all preparations for those philosophical pursuits which
relate to the conduct of life. In none of these, do we meet with
casual combinations so intimate and indissoluble as those which
occur in metaphysics ; and he who has been accustomed to such
discriminations as this science requires, will not easily be im-
posed on by that confusion of ideas, which warps the judg-
ments of the multitude in moral, religious, and political in-
quiries.

From the facts which have now been stated, it is easy to con-
ceive the manner in which the association of ideas has a tendency
to mislead the judgment in ih& first of the three cases ahready
enumerated. When two subjects of thought are so intimately
connected together in the mind, that we find it scarcely possible
to consider them apart, it must require no common efforts of
attention, to conduct any process of reasoning which relates to
either. I formerly took notice of the errors to which we are
exposed in consequence of ^e ambiguity of words ; and of the
necessity of frequent checking and correcting our general rea*
Bonings by means of particular examples ; but in the cases to
which I allude at present, there is (if I may use the expression)
an ambiguity of things ; so that, even when the mind is occupied
about particulars, it finds it difficult to separate the proper ob-
jects of its attention from others with which it has been long
accustomed to blend them. The cases, indeed, in which such
obstinate and invincible associations are formed among different
subjects of thought, are not very numerous, and occur chiefly
in our metaphysical researches; but in every mind, casual
combinations of an inferior degree of strength, have an habitual
effect in disturbing the intellectual powers, and are not to be
conquered without persevering exertions, of which few men are
capable. The obvious effects which this tendency to combi-
nation produces on the judgment, in confounding together those
ideas which it is the province of the metaphysician to distinguish,
sufficiently illustrate the mode of its operation in those numer*

S14 7HS OTLUBNCB OF CASUAL ASSOCtkTlOirB.

cms instanoes, in which iis inflnenoe, though not so oompkle
and striking, is equally real, and far more dangerous.

2. MsoctcUion misleads us in judging of thejutuve from the
past. — The association of ideas is a source of speculative eiror,
hj misleading us in those anticipations of the future from the
past| which are the foundation of our conduct in life.

The great object of philosophy, as I have already remarked
more than once, is to ascertain the laws * which regulate the sue-
cession of events^ both in the physical and moral worlds ; in
order that, when called upon to act in any particular combi-
nation of circumstances, we may be enabled to anticipate tiie
probable course of nature frmn our past ezperienoe, and to
regulate our conduct accordingly.

As a knowledge of the established oomectioas among erents
is the foundiUion of sagacity and of skill, both in the practical
arts, and in the ccmduct o£ life, nature has not only given to all
men a strong disposition to remaik, with attention and curiosity,
those phenom^ia which have been observed to happen nearly
at the same time ; but has beautifully adapted to the uniformity
of her own operations, the laws of association in the human
mind. By rendering contigui^ in time one of the strongest of
our associating principles, she has conjoined together in our
thoughts the same events which we have found conjoined in
our experience, and has thus accommodated (without any efibct
on our part) the order of our ideas to that scene in which we
are destined to actf

The degree of experience which is necessary for the preser-
vation of our animal existence, is acquired by all men without

* See note to page 6.

t [" The law of the cuMdation of ideas, which is the regnladve principle
of memory, corresponds so exactly with the wiijbrm mooeasion of oauae and
effect, which is the reg:iilatiyo principle of the nniTersey that bo one can
doubt that the one was specially designed to be the complement of the
other. The child associates the idea of burning with that of the fire ; and
every pleasant or painful feeling reminds him of the occasion when it was
first excited. On these connections of thonghti the whole value of ex*
perience d^toods. If memoiy acted disorderly, the eSkct, for all praettod

THB IKFLUmrCB OF CASUAL ASSOCIATIONS. SM

wmj particular efforts of stadj. The laws of nature, which it is
most material for us to know, are exposed to the immediate
observation of our senses ; Und establish, by means of the prin-
ciple of association, a corresponding order in our thoughts, long
before the dawn of reason and reflection ; or at least, long before
that period of childhood, to which our recollectiou a^rwards
extends.

This tendency of the mind to associate together events which
have been presented to it nearly at the same time, although,
on the whole, it is attended with infinite advantages, yet like
many other principles of our nature, may occasionally be a
source of inconvenience, unless we avail ourselves of our reason
and of our experience in keeping it under proper regulation.
Among the various phenomena which are continually passing
before us, there is a great proportion, whose vidnUy in time doe$
not indicate a constancy of cof^'unetian ; and unless we be care-
ful to make the distinction between these two classes of connec-
tions, the order of our ideas will be apt to correspond with the
one as well as with the other ; and our unenlightened experience
of the past wlQ fill the mind, in numberless instances, with vain
expectations, or with groundless alarms, concerning the future.
This disposition to confound together accidental and permanent
connections, is one great source of popular superstitions. Henco
the regard which is paid to unlucky days ; to unlucky colors ; and
to the infiuence of the planets; — apprehensions which render
human life, to many, a continued series of absurd terrors. Lu-
cretius compares them to those which children feel, from an idea
of the existence of spirits in the dark.

purposes, wonld be the same as if events succeeded eadi ofher at random,
and not in an unchangeable sequence. Before the past can be a safe guid«
88 to the future, it is necessaiy, not only that the same efiect should alwayt
follow the same cause, but also that the sight of the cause should always
and instantly remind us of what is sure to succeed. In this respect, as in
many otliers, the mind is a microcosm ; it mirrors to us those aspects of
external nature which are most necessaiy to be presented icr Ihe safety of
the mdiridnaL The law of causatioB is also thfi law ot memory/'] -«
Bowen's LowdL Letiturett, p. 398.

S16 THS nrffLUSirOB OV OASUAL ASSOCIATluKft.

" Ae relati pneri trepidant, atipM omnia e»cii
In tenebrit metaont» sic noa in Inoe timemns,
Interdom nahilo qoA innt matnenda magis."

Such spectres can be dispelled hj the light of philosophj
only ; which, by aocostoming us to trace established connections,
teaches us to despise those which are casual ; and, by giving a
proper direction to that bias of the mind which is the foundation
of superstition, prevents it from leading us astray.

Wrong auoeioHoni may mislead even enlightened minds. — In
the instances which we have now been considering, events come
to be combined together in the mind, merely from the accideital
dicumstanoe of their contiguity in time, at the moment when
we perceived them. Such combinations are confined, in a great
measure, to uncultivated and unenlightened minds ; or to those
individuals who, from nature or education, have a more than
ordinary facility of association. But there are other accidental
combinations, which are apt to lay hold of the most vigorous
understandings ; and from which, as they are the natural and
necessary result of a limited experience, no superiority of in-
tellect is sufficient to preserve a philosopher, in the infimcy of
physical science.

As the connections among physical events are discovered to
us by experience alone, it is evident that, when we see a phe-
nomenon preceded by a number of different circumstances, it is
impossible for us to determine, by any reasoning a priori, which
oi these circumstances are to be regarded as the eonstantj and
which as the aecidentalj antecedents of the effect If, in the
course of our experience, the same combination of circum-
stances is always exhibited to us without any alteration, and is
invariably followed by the same result, we must for ever remain
ignorant, whether this result be connected with the whole com-
bination, or with one or more of the circumstances combined ;
and therefore, if we are anxious, upon any occasion, to produce
a similar effect, the only rule that we can follow with perfect
security, is to imitate in every particular circumstance the
oombination which we have seen. It is only where we have an
opportunity ci separating such circumstances from each other ;

THB IKFLUBNCB OF CASUAL ASSOCZATIOirS. 217

of oombining them variously together ; and of observing the
effects which result from these different experiments, that we
can ascertain with precision the general laws of nature, and
strip physical causes of their accidental and unessential con-
comitants.

To illustrate this by an example. Let us suppose that a
savage, who, in a particular instance, had found himself relieved
of some bodily indisposition by a draught of cold water, is a
second time afflicted with a similar disorder, and is desirous to
repeat the same remedy. With a limited degiee of experience
which we have here supposed him to possess, it would be im-
possible for the acutest philosopher, in his situation, to deter
mine, whether the cure was owing to the water which was
drunk, to the cup in which it was contained, to the fountain
from which it was taken, to the particular day of the month, or to
the particular age of the moon. In order, therefore, to insure the
success of the remedy, he will very naturally, and very wisely,
copy, as far as he can recollect, every circumstance which ao-
oompanied the first application of it. He will make use of the
same cup, draw the water from the same fountain, hold his body
in the same posture, and turn his face in the same directipn ; and
thus all the accidental circumstances in which the first experi-
ment was made, will come to be associated equally in his mind
with the effect produced. The fountain from which the water
was drawn, will be considered as possessed of particular virtues;
and the cup from which it was drunk, will be set apart from
Tulgar uses, for the sake of those who may afterwards have
occasion to apply the remedy. It is the enlargement of ex-
perience alone, and not any progress in the art of reasonings
which can cure the mind of these associations, and free the
practice of medicine from those superstitious observances with
which we always find it incumbered among rude nations.

Many instances of this species of superstition might be pro-
duced from the works of philosophers who have flourished in
more enlightened ages. In particular, many might be pro-
duced from the writings of those physical inquirers who imme-
diately succeeded to Lord Bacon ; and who, convinced by his
19

818 nn nrrLimrcs ov casval AssociATioira.'

•rgnments of the folly of all reasonings a priori ooncerning Am
laws of nature, were frequently apt to run into the opposite
extreme, hj recording everj circumstance, even the most ludi-
crous, and the most obvionslj unessential, which attended their
experiments.*

Moral and poUtieal pr^'wUces traced to the anoeioHon of
ideas. — The observations which have been hitherto made, re-
late entirely to associations founded on casual combinations of
material objects, or of phyncal events. The effects which these
associations produce on the understanding, and which are so
palpable tiiat they cannot fail to strike the most careless ob-
server, will prepare the reader fer the remaris I am now to
make, on some analogous prejudices which warp our opinions
on still more important subjects.

As the established laws of the material world, whlcb have
been exhibited to our senses from our infiincy, gradual^ ac-
commodate to themselves the order of our thoughts ; so the
most arbitrary and capricious institutions and customs^ by a
long and constant and exclusive operation on the mind, acquire
such an influence in forming the intellectual habits, that every
deviation from them not only produces surprise, but is apt to
excite sentiments of contempt and of ridicule.t A person who
has never extended his views beyond that society of which he
himself is a member, is apt to consider many peculiarities in the
manners and customs of his countrymen as founded on the uni-
versal principles of the human constitution ; and when he hears
of other nations, whose practices in similar cases are different,

* The reader will scarcely beUere, that the foUowing core for a dyse^*
teiy is copied verbofom from the woricB of Mr. Boyle : -^

" Take the thigh-bone of a hanged man/ (perhaps another may senre,
but this was still made use of,) calcine it to whiteness, and having purged
the patient with an antimonid medicine, give him one drachm of this white
powder for one dose, in some good cordial, whether conserve or Kqnor."

t "Noos nous accontnmons k toot ce que noos Yoyons ; et je ne scais
ti le consulat da cheval de Caligala nous anroit antant sorpris qne aoua
nous rimaginons." [We become accustomed to every thing which we seo j
and I do not know that the consulship of Caligula's horse would hA^«
surprised us as much as we imagine.] — Cardinal de Retz,

• rSX INFLUSKOX OF CAtlUAI. ABSOCIATION8. 219

he IS apt to censure them as mmatoral, and to despise them as
absurd. There are two classes of men who have more par-
ticularly been charged with this weakness ; those who are placed
at the bottom, and those who have reached the summit, of the
scale of refinement ; the former &om ignorance, and the latter
from national vanity.

For curing this class of prejudices, the obvious expedient
which nature points out to us, is to extend our acquaintance
with human affairs, either hj means ci books, or of personal
observation. The effects of traveUing, in enlarging and in en-
light^iing the mind, are obvious to our daily experience ; and
similar advantages may be derived^ (although, periiaps, not in
an equal degree,) from a careful study of the manners c£ past
ages or of distant nations, as they are described by the his-
torian. In making, however, these attempts for our intellectual
improvement, it is of the utmost consequence to us to vary, to
a considerable degree, the objects of our attrition, in order to
prevent any danger of our acquiring an exclusive preference
for the caprices of any one people, whose political situation, or
whose moral character, may attach us to them as faulUess
models for our imitation. The same weakness and versatility
of mind, the same facility of association, which, in the case of
a perscm who has never extended his views beyond his own
conununity, is a source of national prejudice and of national
bigotry, renders the mind, when formed into new situations,
easily susceptible of other prejudices no less ct^ricious ; and
frequently prevents the time, which is devoted to travelling, or
to study, from being subservient to any better purpose, than an
importation of foreign fashions, or a still more ludicrous imitar
tion of ancient follies.

The philosopher whose thoughts dwell habitually, not merely
upon what is, or what has been, but upon what is best and
most expedient fi>r mankind ; who, to the study of books, and
the observation of manners, has added a careful examination of
the principles of the human constitution, and of those which
ought to regulate the social order ; is the only person who is
effectually secured against both the weaknesses which I hav«

t20 «HE IKVLTTEKOB OF CASUAZ. A8800IATION8.

described. B7 learning to separate what is essential to morality
and to happiness, from those adventitious trifles which it is the
province of fashion to direct, he is eqaallj guarded against the
follies of national prejudices, and a weak deviation, in matters
of indifference, from established ideas. Upon his mind, thus
occupied with important subjects of reflection, the fluctuating
caprices and fashions of the times lose their influence; while
accustomed to avoid the slavery of local and arbitrary habits,
he possesses, in his own genuine simplicity of character, the
same power of accommodation to external circumstances, which
men of the world derive from the pliability of their taste and
the versatility of their manners. As the order too, of his ideas
IS accommodated, not to what is casually presented from without,
but to his own systematical principles, his associations are sub-
ject only to those slow and pleasing changes which arise from
his growing light and improving reason ; and, in such a period
of tiie world as at present, when the press not only excludes
the possibility of a permanent retrogradation in human affairs,
but operates with an irresistible though gradual progress, in
undermining prejudices and in extending the triumphs of phi-
losophy, he may reasonably indulge the hope, that society will
every day approach nearer and nearep to what he wishes it to
be. A man of such a character, instead of looking back on the
past with regret, finds himself (if I may use the expression)
more at home in the world, and more satisfied with its order,
the longer he lives in it. The melancholy contrast which old
men are sometimes disposed to state, between its condition
when they are about to leave it, and that in which they found it
at the commencement of their career, arises, in most cases,
from the unlimited influence which, in their early years, they
had allowed to the fashions of the times, in the formation of .
their characters. How different from those sentiments and
prospects which dignifled the retreat of Turgot, and brightened
the declining years of Franklin !

How unconscious changes of opinion are produced. — The
querulous temper, however, which is incident to old men,
although it renders their manners disagreeable in the inter*

THS IKFLUEKCS OF CASUAL ASSOCIATIOITS. 221

oourae of soraal life, is by no means the most contemptible form
in which the prejudices I have now been describing maj dis«
plaj their influence. Such a temper indicates at least a certain
degree of observation, in marking the vicissitudes of human
affairs, and a certain degree of sensibility in early life, which
has connected pleasing ideas with the scenes of infancy and
youth. A very great proportion of mankind are, in a great
measure, incapable either of the one or of the other ; and suffering
themselves to be carried quietly along with the stream of fashion,
and finding their opinions and their feelings always in the same
relative situation to the fleeting objects around them, are per-
fectly unconscious of any progress in their own ideas, or of any
change in the manners of their age. In vain* the philosopher
reminds them of the opinions they yesterday held ; and fore-
warns them, fix>m the spirit of the times, of those which they
are to hoLd to-morrow. The opinions of the present moment
see^ to them to be inseparable from their constitution; and
when the prospects are realized, which they lately treated as
chimerical, their minds are so gradually prepared for the event,
that they behold it without any emotions of wonder or curiosity;
and it is to the philosopher alone, by whom it was predicted,
that it appears to furnish a subject worthy of future reflection.*
The prejudices to which the last observations relate, have
their origin in that disposition of our nature, which accommo-
dates the order of our ideas, and our various intellectual habits,

* Some reflections similar to the above are subjoined by Gibbon to his
account of the fable of the Seven Sleepers of fiphesas. " The story of
the seven sleepers has been adopted and adorned bj the nations from
Bengal to Africa, who profess the Mahometan religion ; and some vestiges
of a similar tradition have been discovered in the remote extremities of
Scandinavia. This easy and universal belief, so expressive of the sense
of mankind, may be ascribed to the genuine merit of the &ble itself.
We imperceptibly advance from yduth to age, without observing the
gradual, but incessant change of human affiiirs ; and even in our larjj^r
experience of history, the imagination is accustomed, by a perpetual series
of causes and affects, to unite the most distant revolutions. But if the
interval between two memorable eras could be instantly annihilated ; if it
were possible, after a momentary slumber of two hundred years, to di«*

19*

122 THE nrFLUlSNCB OF CASUAL ASSOCIATIONS.

to whatever appearances have been long and &miliarly pre-
sented to the mind. But there are other prejudices, which, by
being intimately associated with the essential principles of our
constitution, or with the original and Universal laws of our belief
are incomparably more inveterate in their nature, and have a
far more extensive influence on human character and happiness.
3. 7%0 support which error derives from its accidental assocut-
Hon with truth, — The manner in which the association of ideas
operates in producing this third class of our speculative errors,
may be conceived, in part, from what was formerly said, con-
cerning the superstitious observances, which are mixed with the
practice of medicine among rude nations. As all the different
circumstances which accompanied the first administration of a
remedy, come to be considered as essential to its future success,
and are blended together in our conceptions, without any dis-
crimination of their relative importance; so, whatever tenets
and ceremonies we have been taught to connect with the. re-
ligious creed of our in^cy, become almost a part of our con-
stitution, by being indissolubly united with truths which are
essential to happiness, and which we are led to reverence and to
love by all the best dispositions of the heart. The astonish-
ment which the peasant feels, when he sees the rites of a religion
different from his own, is not less great than if he saw some
flagrant breach of the moral duties, or some direct act of im-
piety to Gk>d ; nor is it easy for him to conceive, that there can
be any thing worthy in a mind which treats with indifference

plaj the new world to the eyes of a spectator, who still retained a livelj
and recent impression of the o&f, his surprise and his reflections would
famish the pleasing subject of a philosophical romance." — Dedme ami
FaU. vol. 6, pp. 85, 36.

To these observations maj be added a remark of Lord Bacon's, to the
truth of which our daily experience bears testimony. " Levitas honiinnm
atqne inconstantia hinc optime perspici potest, qui donee res aliqna per-
fecta sit, earn mirantur fieri posse ; postquam facta semel est, itemm
mirantur earn jampridem factam non fuisse." [The levity and inoon-
sistency of men can best be seen in this ; — ihat before a certain thin^
is accomplished, they doubt its possibility; but when it is once done,
they wonder why it was not done long ago.] — Bac. De, Aug, SctaU, Lib. i.

THE INFLUENCB OF CASUAL ASSOCIATIONS. 223

what awakens in his own breast all its best and snblimest emo-
tions. ^ Is it possible," says the old and expiring Bramin, in
one of Marmontel's tales, to the joung English officer who had
saved the life of his daughter, ^ is it possible, that he to whose
compassion I owe the preservation of my child, and who now
soothes mj last moments with the consolations of pietj, should
not believe in the god VhtnaUy and his nine metamorphoses 1 ^

What has now been said on the nature of religions supersti*
tion, may be applied to manj other subjects. In particular, it
may be applied to those political prejudices which bias the judg-
ment even of enlightened men in all countries of the world.

How deeply rooted in the human frame are those important
principles, which interest the good man in the prosperity of the
world ; and more especially in tiie prosperity of that beloved
community to which he belongs 1 How small, at the same time,
is tiie number of individuals, who, accustomed to contemplate
one modification alone of the social order, are able to distinguish
the drcumstances which are essential to human happiness, finom
those which are indifferent or hurtful I In such a situatioa, how
natural is it for a man of benevolence, to acquire an indiscrimi-
nate and superstitious veneration for all the institutions under
which he has been educated; as these institutions, however
capricious and absurd in themselves, are not only familiarized
by habit to all his thoughts and feelings, but are consecrated in
his mind by an indissoluble association with duties which nature
recommends to his affections, and which reason commands him
to fulfiL It is on these accounts, that a superstitious zeal against
innoTation, botii in religion and politics, where it is evidently
grafted on piely to God and good-will to mankind, however it
may excite the sorrow of the more enlightened philosopher, is
justly entitled, not only to his indulgence, but to his esteem and
fiffection.

The remarks which have been already made, are sufficient to
show how necessary it is for us, in the formation of our philo-
•ophical principles, to examine with care all those opinions which
in our early years, we have imbibed from our instructors ; or
nrhich are connected with our own local situation* JVor doe$

tii IHS IVFLUEHOB OF CASUAL ASSOCIATIOVB.

Ae univenalUff of an opinion among mm who have receiped «
nmilar education^ afford any premmpHon in its favor; for liow-
ever great the deference is, which a wise man will always pay to
common belief upon those subjects which have employed the
unbiased reason of mankind, he certainly owes it no respect, in
so far as he suspects it to be influenced by fashion or audiority.
Nothing can be more just than the observation of Fontenelle,
that ^ the number of those who believe in a system already
established in the world, does not, in the least, add to its credi-
bility; but that the number of those who doubt of it has a
tendency to diminirfi it**

The same remarks lead, upon the other hand, to another con-
clusion of still greater importance; that, notwithstandiiig the
various false opinions which are current in the world, there are
tome truihe which are imqifaraUe from the kuman under9tandin§y
and by means of which, the errors of education, in most in-
stances, are enabled to take hold of our bdief.

A weak mind, unaccustomed to reflection, and which has pas^
sively* derived its most important opinions from habits or from
authority, when, in consequence of a more enlarged intercourse
with the world, it finds that ideas which it had been taught to
regard as sacred, are treated by enlightened and worthy men
with ridicule, is apt to lose its reverence for the fundamental
and eternal truths on which these accessory ideas are grafted,
and easily fidls a prey to that skeptical philosophy which teaches,
that all the opinions, and all the principles of action by which
mankind are governed, may be traced to the influence of educa-
tion and example. Amidst the infinite variety of fonns, how-
ever, which our versatile nature assumes, it cannot fisul to strike
an attentive observer, that there are certain indelible features
common to Uiem all. In one situation, we find good men
attached to a republican form of government ; in another, to a
monarchy; but in. all situations, we find them devoted to the
service of their country and of mankind, and disposed to regard,
with reverence and love, the most absurd and capricious institu-
tions which custom has led them to connect with the order of
society. The different appearances, therefore, which the poliii*

TflJB INFLUBNCS OF CASUAL A8S0CIATI0NV. 225

eal opinions and the political conduct of men exhibit, while thej
demonstrate to what a wonderful degree human nature majr be
influenced bj situation and by early instruction, evince the exist*
ence of some common and original principles, which fit it for the
political union, and illustrate the uniform operation of those
laws of association, to which, in all the stages of society, it is
equally subject.

ne^e principles applicahh to gnestions of religion and moral'
ity' — Similar observations are applicable, and, indeed, in a still
more striking degree, to the opinions of mankind on the im-
portant questions of religion and morality. The variety of
systems which they have formed to themselves concerning these
subjects, has often excited the ridicule of the skeptic and the
libertine ; but if, on the one hand, this variety shows the foUy
of bigotry, and the reasonableness of mutual indulgence ; the *
euriosity which has led men in every situation to such specula-
tions, and the influence which their conclusions, however absurd,
have had on their character and their happiness, prove, no less
dearly on the other, that there must be some principlea from
which they all derive their origin ; and invite the philosopher
to ascertain what are these original and immutable laws of the
human mind.

^ Examine," says Mr. Hume, ^ the religious principles which
have prevailed in the world. You will scarcely be persuaded,
that there are any thing but sick men's dreams ; or, perhaps, will
regard them more as the playsome wlumseys of monkeys in
human shape, than the serious, positive, dogmatical asseverations
of a being who dignifies himself with the name of rational.**
— " To oppose the torrent of scholastic religion by such feeble
maxims as these, that it is impossible for the same thing to be
and not to be ; that the whole is greater than a part ; that two
and three make five : is pretending to stop the ocean with a bul»
rush." But what is the inference to which we are led by these
observations ? Is it, to use the words of this ingenious writer,
"■ that the whole is a riddle, an enigma, an inexplicable mystery ;
and that doubt, uncertainty, and suspense, appeal the only result
of our most accurate scrutiny concerning this subject?" Or

S26 THB IHFI.1TBKCB OF CA01TAL A80OCIATIOX8.

thonld not rather the mehmcholj histories which he has ex-
hibited of the follies and caprices of superstition, direct our
attention to those sacred and indelible characters on the hunian
mind, which all these pervenions of reason are unable to
obliterate ; like that image of himself, which Phidias wished to
perpetuate, bj stamping 'it so deeplj on the buckler of his
Minerva ; ^ ut nemo delere posset aut divellere, qui totam stat-
nam non imminueret;'' [that no one could destroy it or take
it awaj, without ruining the whole statue.] In truth, the more
strange the contradictions, and the more ludicrous the ceremo-
nies, to which the pride of human reason has thus been recon-
ciled ; the stronger is our evidence that religion has a foundation
in the nature of man. When the greatest of modem phi-
losophers declares, that ^ he would rather believe all the fiibles
in the Legend, and the Talmud, and the Alcoran, than that this
universal frame is without mind ; " (Lord Bacon, in his Essajs ;)
he has expressed the same feeling, which, in all ages and nations,
has led good men, unaccustomed to reasoning, to an implicit faith
in the creed of their infancy ; — a feeling which affords an evi-
dence of the existence of the Deity incomparably more striking,
than if, unmixed with error and undebased by superstition, this
most important of aU principles had commanded the universal
assent of mankind. Where are the other truths, in the whole
circle of the sciences, which are so essential to human happi-
ness, as to procure an easy access, not only for themselves, bat
for whatever opinions may happen to be blended with them ?
Where are the truths so venerable and commanding, as to impart
their own sublimity to every trifling memorial which recaUs l^em
to our remembrance ; to bestow solemnity and elevation on every
mode of expression by which they are conveyed ; and which, in
whatever scene they have habitually occupied the thoughts, con-
secrate every object which it presents to our senpes, and the
very ground we have been accustomed to tread ? To attempt
to weaken the authority of such impressions, by a detail of the
endless variety of forms which they derive from casual associa-
tions, is surely an employment unsuitable to the dignify of phi-
losophy. To the vulgar it may b€ amusing, in this, as in other

IHE INFI JENCE OF CASUAL ASSOCIATIONS. 227

instances, to indulge their wonder at what is new or uncommon
but to the philosopher it belongs to perceive, under aU thesa
various disguises, the workings of the same common nature ; and
in the superstitions of Egypt, no less than in the loftj visions
of Plato, to recognize the existence of those moral ties which
unite the heart of man to the Author of his being.

II. Lifluence of ike association of ideas on our judgments in
matters of taste. How taste is formed, — The very general
observations which I am to make in this Section, do not pre-
suppose any particular theory concerning the nature of taste.
It is sufficient for my purpose to remark, that tagte is not a
simple and original faeuUyy hut a power gradual^ formed 2y
experience and observation. It implies, indeed, as its ground-
work, a certain degree of natural sensibility ; but it implies also
the exercise of the judgment ; and is the slow result of an at-
tentive examination and comparison of the agreeable or dis-
agreeable effects produced on the mind by external objects.

The view which was formerly given of the process by which
the general laws of the material world are investigated, and
which I endeavored to illustrate by the state of medicine among
rude nations, is strictly applicable to the history of taste. That
certain objects are fitted to give pleasure, and others disgust, to
the mind, we know from experience alone ; and it is impossible
for us, by any reasoning a priori^ to explain how the pleasure or
the pain is produced. In the works of nature we find, in many
instances, beauty and sublimity involved among circumstances
which are either indifierent, or which obstruct the general
effect; and it is only by a train of experiments, that we can
separate those circumstances from the rest, and ascertain with
what particular qualities the pleasing effect is connected. Ao-
cordingly, the inexperienced artist, when he copies nature,
will copy her servilely, that he may be certain of securing the
pleasing effect ; and the beauties of his performances will be
incumbered with a number of superfluous or of disagreeable
concomitants. Experience and observation alone can enable
him to make this discrimination ; to exhibit the principles of
beauty pure and unadulterated, and to form a creation* of his

228 THB nrrLUENCB of oasuai. amociatioks.

own, more faultless than ever fell under the observation of his
senses.

This analogy between the progress of taste from rudeness to
refinement, and the progress of physical knowledge from the
superstitions of a savage tribe to the investigation of the laws
of nature, proceeds on the supposition, that, as in the material
world there are general facts, beyond which philosophy is un-
able to proceed; so,. in the constitution of man, there is an in-
explicable adaptation oi the mind to the objects with which
these faculties are conversant ; in consequence of which, these
objects are fitted to produce agreeable or disagreeable emotions.
In both cases, reasoning may be employed with propriety to
refer particular phenomena to general principles ; but in both
cases, we must at last arrive at principles of which no account
can be given, but that such is the will of our Maker.

The inflvence of eamal atsociaiions an taste, — A great part,
too, of the remarks which were made in the last section on the
origin of popular prejudices, may be applied to explain the
influence of casual associations on taste ; but these remarks do
not so completely exhaust the subject, as to supersede the ne-
cessity of further illustration. In matters of taste, the efi^ects
which we consider are produced on the mind itself; and are
accompanied either with pleasure or with pain. Hence the
tendency to casual association is much stronger than it com-
monly is, with respect to physical events ; and when such as
sociations are once formed, as they do not lead to any important
inconvenience, similar to those which result from physical mis-
takes, they are not so likely to be corrected by mere experience,
unassisted by study. To this it is owing, that the influence of
association on our judgments concerning beauty and deformity,
is still more remarkable than on our speculative conclusions ; a
circumstance which has led some philosophers to suppose, that
association is sufficient to account for the origin of these notions ,
and that there is no such thing as a standard of taste, founded
on the principles of the human constitution. But this is un-
doubtedly pushing the theory a great deal too far. The associ-
ation of ideas can never account for the origin of a new notion,

THE INIXUEKOE OF CASUAL ASSOCIATIONS. 229

or of a pleasure asentiaUy different from all the others which
we know. It may, indeed, enable us to conceive how a thing,
indifferent in itself, may become a source of pleasure, by being
connected in the mind with something else whidi is naturally
agreeable ; but it presupposes, in every instance, the existence
of those notions and those feelings which it is its province to
combine : insomuch that, I apprehend, it will be found, wherever
association produces a change in our judgments on matters of
taste, it does so by cooperating with some natural principle of
the mind, and implies the existence of certain original sources
of pleasure and uneasiness.

How fashions change. — A mode of dress, which at first ap-
peared awkward, acquires, in a few weeks or months, the ap-
pearance of elegance. By being accustomed to see it worn by
those whom we consider as models of taste, it becomes asso-
ciated with the agreeable impressions which we receive from the
ease and grace and refinement of their manners. When it
pleases by itself, the effed: is to be ascribed, not to the object
actually before us, but to the impressions with which it has
been generally connected, and which it naturally recalls to the
mind.

This observation points out the cause of the perpetual vicis-
situdes in dress, and in every thing whose chief recommendation
arises from fashion. It is evident that, as far as the agreeable
effect of an ornament arises from association, the effect will
continue only while it is confined to the higher orders. When
it is adopted by the multitude, it not only ceases to be asso-
ciated with ideas of taste and refinement, but it is associated with
ideas of affectation, absurd imitation, and vulgarity. It is ac-
cordingly laid aside by the higher orders, trho studiously avoid
every circumstance in external appearance which is debased
by low and common use ; and they are led to exercise their
invention in the introduction of some new peculiarities, which
first become fashionable, then common, and last of all, are
abandoned as vulgar.

It has often been remarked, that afler a certain period in
the progress of society, the public taste becomes corrupted ; and

20

tSC TBB IVFLITXirCB OF CASUAL ASSOCIATIOHS^

the different {MrodoetioiiB <!i the fine arts begin to degenerate
from that aimplicitji which thej had attained in their state of
greatest perfectioa. One reason of this decline is snggested by
the foregoing obseirations.

From the aoooont which has been given (tf the natnnil pro*
gross of taste, in separating the gennine principles of beautj
from soperfluoas and from offensive concomitants, it is evident,
that there is a limit, beyond which the love of simplidtjr cannot
be carried. No bounds, indeed, can be set to the creations of
genius ; but as this quality occurs seldom in an eminent degree,
it commonly happens, that after a period of great refinement of
taste, men begin to gratify their love of variety, by adding
superfluous circumstances to the finished models exhibited by
their predecess<H9, or by making other trifling alterations on
them, with a view merely of diversifying the effect. These
additions and alterations, indifferent perhaps, or even in some
degree offensive in themselves, acquire soon a borrowed beauty,
from the connection in which we see them, or from the influence
of fashion : the same cause which at first produced them, con-
tinues perpetually to increase their number ; and taste returns
to barbarism, by almost the same steps which conducted it to
perfection.

The truth of these remarks will appear still more striking to
those who consider the wonderful effect which a writer of
splendid genius, but of incorrect taste, has in misleading the
public judgment. The peculiarities of such an author are
c<»8ecrated by the connection in which we see them, and even
please, to a certain degree, when detached from the excellences
of his composition, by recalling to us the agreeable impressions
with which they have been formerly associated. How many
imitations have we seen of the affectations of Sterne, by men
who were unable to copy his beauties ! And yet these imi-
tations of his defects ; of his abrupt manner ; of his minute
specification of circumstances ; and even of his dashes, produce,
at first, some effect on readers of sensibility, but of uncultivated
taste, in consequence of the exquisite strokes of the pathetic,
and the singular vein of humor, with which they are united in
the original.

THS mrhWBrvti or casual asbooiatiohs. 181

Two kindi irf iatte duHngmshecL-^From what has heeo
said, it is obTioiis, that the circumstances which please in tha
objects of taste, are of two kind3 : Jirsty those which are fitted
to please bj nature, or bj associations which all mankind are
led to form by their common condition ; and, 8ec<mdfyy those
which please in consequence of associations arising from local
and accidental drcumstanees. Hence^ there are two kinds of
taste ; the one enabling us to judge of those beauties which
have a foundation in the human constitution ; the other, of such
objects as derive their principal recommendation from the
influence of &8hion.

These two kinds of taste are not always united in the same
pers<m ; indeed,! am inclined to think, that thej are united but
rarely. The perfection oi the one depends much upon the
degree in whidi we are able to free the mind from the influence
of casual associations ; that of the other, on the contrary, de«
pends on a fiicility of associatimi, which enables us to fall in, at
once, with all the turns of the fashion, and, as Shakspeare ex*
presses it, ^ to catch the tune of the times."

The influence *>/ a$8ociaH<m on language. — I shall endeav<Mr
to illustrate some of the foregoing remarks, by applying them
to the subject of language, which affords numberless instances
to exemplify the influence which the association of ideas has on
our judgments in matters of taste.

In the same manner in which an article of dress acquired an
appearance of elegance or of vulgarity from the persons by
wh<»n it is habitually worn ; so a particular mode of pronuncia-
tion acquires an air of &shion or of rusticity, from the persons
by whom it is habitually employed. The Scotch accent is
surely in itself as good as the English, and with a few except
tions, is as agreeable to the ear ; and yet how offensive does it
appear, even to us, who have been accustomed to hear it from
our infancy, when compared with that which is used by our
sonthem neighbors I — No reason can be given for this, but that
the cajHtal of Scotland is now become a provincial town, and
London is the seat of our court.

The distinction which is to be found in the languages of all

nt THK nnPLITEKCB 07 CA0U1X USOCIATIOirS.

civilized nations, between low and polite modes of ezpf ession,
arises from similar causes. It is, indeed, amusing to remark
the solicitude with which the higher orders, in the mcmarchies
of modem Europe, avoid every circumstance in their exterior
appearance and manner, which, by the most remote association,
may, in the minds of others, connect them with the idea of the
multitude. Their whole dress and deportment and conversation
are studiously arranged to convey an imposing notion of their
consequence ; and to recall to the spectator, by numberless slight
and apparently unintentional hints, the agreeable impressions
which are associated with the advantages of fortune.

To this influence of association on language, it is necessary
for every writer to attend carefidly, who wishes to express him-
self with elegance. For the attainment of correctness and
purity in the use of words, the rules of grammarians and of
critics may be a sufficient guide ; but it is not in the works of
this class of authors, that the higher beauties of style are to be
studied. As the air and manner of a gentleman can be acquired
only by living habitually in the best society, so grace in com-
position must be attained by an habitual acquaintance with
classical writers. It is indeed necessary for pur information, that
we should peruse occasionally many books which have no merit
in point of expression ; but I believe it to be extremely useful
to all literary men, to counteract the effect of this misceUaneons
reading, by maintaining a constant and familiar acquaintance
with a few of the most faultless models which the language
affords. For want of some standard of this sort, we frequently
see an author's taste in writing alter much to the worse in the
course of his life ; and his later productions Mi below the level
of his early essays. D'Alembert tells us, that Voltaire had
always lying on his table the Petit CarSme of Massillon, and
the tragedies of Racine ; the former to fix his taste in prose
composition, and the latter in poetry.

In avoiding, however, expressions which are debased by vul-
gar use, there is a danger of running into the other extreme in
quest of fashionable words and phrases. Such an affectation
may, for a few years, gratify the vanity of an author, bj giving

.THK.DraXUSKOS OP CASTTAL ASSOCIATIONS. 23$

him the air of a man of the world ; but the reputation it bestows
18 of a very transitory nature. The works which continue to
please from age to age are written with perfect simplidtj, while
those which captivate the multitude b j a display of meretricious
ornaments, if, by chance, they should survive the fashions to
which they are accommodated, remain only to furnish a subject
of ridicule to posterity. The portrait of a beautiful woman in
the fashionable dress of the day may please at the moment it is
painted, nay, may perhaps please more than in any that the
fiuicy of the artist could have su^ested ; but it is only in the
plainest and simplest drapery that the most perfect form can be
transmitted with advantage to future times.

The exceptions which the history of literature seems to fur-
nish to these observations are only apparent. That, in the
works of our best authors there are many beauties which have
long and generally been admired, and which yet owe their whole
eflfect to association, cannot be disputed ; but, in such cases, it
will always be found that the associations which are the founda-
tion of our pleasures, have, in consequence of some peculiar
combination of circumstances, been more widely diffused, and
more permanently established among mankind, than those which
date their origin firom the caprices of our own agie are ever
likely to be. An admiration for the classical remains of an-
tiquity is, at present, not less general in Europe than the advan-
tages of a liberal education; and such is the effect of this
admiration, that there are certain caprices of taste from which
no man who is well educated is entirely free. A composition in
a modem language, wEich should sometimes depart from the
ordinary modes of expression, from an affectation of the idioms
which are consecrated in the classics, would please a very wide
circle of readers, in consequence of the prevalence of classical
associations; and therefore, such affectations, however absurd
when carried to a degree of singularity, are of a far superior
class to those which are adapted to the fashions of the day.
But still the general principle holds true, that whatever beauties
derive their original merely from casual association, must appear
capiicious to those to whom the association does not extend ; and

114 in vnunmo^ at casvai. Auactxnmn.

Umi the timplest ttyle li tiiat wUch oontinaes longest to plnwwL
and which pkases most uniyersallj. In the writnigs ii Mr*
Harrisi there is a certain daasical air which will always have
manj admirer^ while ancient learning continues to he cultivated,
but which, to a mere English reader, f4)pear8 somewhat im*
natural and ungmoeful, when compared with the composition of
Swift or of Addison.

iifiuence of ekutieal a$toeiaHimi on thearti. — The aaalogj
of the arts of statnaiyand painting maj be of use in illustnUai^
these remarks* The influenoe of ancient times has extended
to these, 9a well as to the art of writing; and, in this case^ no
less than in the other, the transcendent power of geoins has
established a propriety of choice in matters of indifference, and
hai^ perhaps, c<msecrated in the opinion of mankind some of its
own ci^Hices*

^ Manj of the ornaments of ar^** sajs Sir Jodiua BeyncMs,
^those at least forwhich no reason can be given, are transmitted
to us, are adopted, and acquire their eonseqnenoe from tha
oompanj in which we have been used to see them* As Ghreeea
and Borne are the fountains fiKHn whraice have flowed aU kinds
of excellence, to that veneration which thej have a right to
daim for the pleasure and knowledge which they have aflforded
US| wo voluntarily add our i^probation of every ornament and
every custom that belonged to them, even to the fashion of their
dress. For it may be observed, that, not satisfied with them in
their own place, we make no difficulty of dressing statues of
modem heroes or senators in the fiuhion of the Roman armor,
or peaoefiil robe, and even go so £ur as hardly to bear a statue
in any other drapery.

** The figures of the great men of those nations have oomo
down to us in sculpture. In sculpture remain abnost all the
excellent specimens (^ ancient art We have so &t associated
personal dignity to the persons thus represented, and the truth
of art to their manner of representation, that it is not m ear
power any longer to separate them* This is not so in painting,
because, having -no excellent ancient portraits, that oonneotnn
Tpas never formed. Indeed, we could no mwe venture to palm

TBB nm.UXM€S OF OJLSVAIs AUOCIAXIOn. S8S

• general officer in a Boman milHarj habit, tluui we could make
a statue in the present uniform* But since we have no ancient
portraits to show how ready we are to adopt those kind of preju-
dices, we make the best authority among the modems serve the
same purpose. The great variety of excellent portraits with
which Vandyke has enriched this nation, we are not content to
admire for their real excellence, but extend our approbation even
to the dress which happened to be the fashion of that age. By
thi« means, it must be acknowledged, very ordinary pictures
acquired 8<Hnething of the air and effect of the works (^Van-
dyke, and appeared therefore, at first sight, better pictures than
they really were. They appeared so, however, to those only
who had the means oi making this association.''

The language of poetry affected hy casual aseoctaHons. ^-'Th^
mfluence of association on our notions concerning language, is
still more strongly exemplified m poetry than in prose. As it
is one great object of the poet, in his serious productions, to
elevate the imagination of his readers above the grossness of
aensibk objects, and the vulgarity of common life, it becomes
peculiarly necessary for him to reject the use ci all words and
phrases which are trivial and hackneyed. Among those which
are equally pure and equally perspicuous, he, in general, finds
H expedient to adopt that which is the least common. Milton
prefers the words Bhene and Danaw to the more common words
Bhine and Danube : -«

"A multitude, like which the populous North
Bour'd nerer from his frosen loins, to ptas
Bhene or the Danaw."

In the following line,

" Things nnattempted yet in prose or rhyme/'

how much more suitable to the poetical style does the expression
appear, than if the author had said,

*' Things nnattempted yet in prose or verse."

In another passage, where, for the sake of yariety, he has mads

S86 9HS nrrLUKiroB OT casxtal MBnomAraom.

use of the last phrase, he adds an epithet, to remore it a little
firom the familiaritj of ordinary discourse.

" in prose or nnmeroos verse."

PeeuUaritiet of poetical diction. — In oonsequence of this eir*
eumstance, there arises graduaUy in every language a poetical
diction^ which differs widely from the oonunon diction of prose.
It is much less subject to the vicissitudes of fashion, than the
polite modes of expression in familiar conversation ; because,
when it has once been adopted by the poet, it is avoided by
good prose writers, as being too elevated f<v that species of oom*
position. It may therefore retain its charm, as long as the Uuh
guage exists ; nay, the charm may inerease, as the language
grows older.

Indeed, the charm of poetical diction must increase to a cer-
tain degree, as polite literature advances. For when once a set
of words has been consecrated to poetry, the very sound of
them, independently of the ideas they convey, awakais, every
time we hear it, the agreeable impressions which were connected
with it when we met with them in the perf(»mances of our favorite
authors. £ven when strung together in sentences which con-
vey no meaning, they produce some effect on the mind of a
reader of sensibility ; an effect, at least, extremely different firom
that of an unmeaning sentence in prose.

Languages differ from each other widely in the copiousness
of their poetical diction. Our own possesses, in this respect,
important advantages over the French ; not that in this language
there are no words appropriated to poetry, but because their
number is, comparatively speaking, extremely limited.

The scantiness of the French poetical diction is, probably,
attended with the less inconvenience, that the phrases which
occur in good prose writing are less degraded by vulgar appli-
cation than in English, in consequence of the line being more
distinctly and more strongly drawn between polite and lovir ex-
pressions in that language than in ours. Our poets, indeed, by
Iwving a language appropriated to their own purposes, not uolj

7HB IVFLUXirOB OF CASUAI. HBMO^VIOVZ. S87

cam pre^rre dignity <^ expression, but can oonneel with the
pemsal of their compositions, the pleasing impressions whidi
have been produced bj those of their predecessors. And hence,
in the higher sorts of poetrj, where their object is to kindle, as
much as possible, the enthusiasm of their readers, they not only
avoid, studiously, aU expressions which are vulgar, but aU such
as are borrowed from &shx>nable life. This certainly cannot
be done in an equal degree by a poet who writes in the French
language.

In English, the poetical diction is so extremely copious, that
it is liable to be abused ; as it puts it in the power of authors of
no genius, merely by ringing changes on the poetical vocabu-
lary, to give a certain degree of currency to the most unmean-
ing compositions. In Pope's Son^ by a Person of QuaUtpj the
incoherence of ideas is scarcely greater than what is to be found
IB some admired passages of our fashionable poetry.

Nor is it merely by a difference of words, that the language
of poetry is distii^ished from that of prose. When a poetical
arrangement of words has once been established by authors of
reputation, the most common expressions, by being presented in
this consecrated order, may serve to excite poetical associations.

On the other hand, nothing more completely destroys the
charm of poetry, than a string oi words which the custcmi of
ordinary discourse has arranged in so invariable an order, that
the whole phrase may be anticipated from, hearing its oomr
mencement A single word frequently strikes us as flat and
fHTOsaic, in consequence of its familiarity ; bi^ two such words,
coupled together in the order of conversation, can scarcely be
introduced into serious poetry without appearing ludicrous.

No poet in our language has shown so strikingly as Mihoa,
the wonderM elevation which style may derive from an
arrangement of words, which, while it is perfectly intelligible,
departs widely from that to which we are in general accustomed.
Many of his most sublime periods, when the order of the words
is altered, are reduced nearly to the level of prose.

To eopy this artifice with success is a much nM»re diffieidt
attainment than is eommonly imagined: and, of consequence^

S88 THB nffLUSKOB OF OA817AL AB0OOIATIOV8.

when it is acqaired, it secores an author, to a great degree^
£rom that crowd ci imitators who spoil the effect of whatever
is not beyond their reach. To the poet who uses blank Terse,
it is an acquisition of still more essential consequence than to
him who expresses himself in rhjme ; for the more that the
structure of the verse approaches to prose, the more it is neoes-
sarj to give novelty and dignity to the composition. And ao-
oordingly, among our magazine poets, ten thousand catch the
structure of Pope's versification, for one who approaches to the
manner of Milton or of Thomson.

The facility, however, of this imitation, like every other, in-
creases with the number of those who have studied it with siuy
eess ; for the more numerous the authors who have employed
their genius in any one direction, the more copious are the
materials out of which mediocrity may select and combine, so
as to escape the charge of pkgiarism. And, in fact, in oar own
language, this, as well as the other great resource of poetical
expression, the employment of appropriated words, has had its
effects so much impaired by the abuse which has been made of
it, that a few of our best poets of late have endeavored to
strike out a new path for themselves, by resting the elevation
for their composition chiefiy on a singular, and, to an ordinary
writer, an unattainable, union of harmonious versification with
a natural arrangement of words and a simple elegance of ex-
pression. It is this union which seems to form the distinguish"
ing charm of the poetry of Groldsmith.

From the remari&s which have been made on the influence of
the association of ideas on our judgments in matters of taste, it
is obvious how much the opinions o£ a nation with respect to
merit in the fine arts, are likely to be influenced by the form of
their government, and the state of their manners. Voltaire, in
his discourse pronounced at his reception into the French
academy, gives several reasons why the poets of that country
have not succeeded in describing rural scenes and employments.
The principal one is, the ideas of meanness, and poverty, and
wretchedness, which the French are accustomed to associate
with tht profession of husbandry. The same thing is alluded

THB INFLITBNCB OF CASUAL A880CUTIOV8. 2SI

to bj the Abb4 de Lille, in the preliminary discourse prefixed
to his translation of the Greorgics. ^ A translation/' sajs he,
^ of this poem, if it had been undertaken by an author of geniusy
would have been better calculated than any other work, for add-
ing to the riches of our language. A version of the iEneid itself
however well executed, would, in this respect be of less utility ,
inasmuch as the genius of our tongue accommodates itself more
easily to the description of heroic achievements, than to the
details of natural phenomena, and of the operations of hus«
bandry. To force it to express these with suitable dignity,
would have been a real conquest over that false delicacy, which
it has contracted from our unfortunate prejudices."

How different must have been the emotions with which this
divine performance of Virgil was read by an ancient Roman,
while he recollected that period in the history of his country,
when dictators were called from the plough to the defence of
the state, and after having led monarchs in triumph, returned
again to the same happy and independent occupation. A state
of manners to which a Boman author of a later age looked
back with such enthusiasm, that he ascribes, by a bold, poetical
figure, the flourishing state of agriculture under the republic, to
the grateful returns which the earth then made to the illustrious
hands by which she was cultivated. ^ Gaudente terra vomere
laureato, et triumphali aratore." [The land rejoicing because
the plough is wreathed with laurel, and the husbandman has
received the honors of a triumph.] (Plin. NjoA. HUt. xviii. 4.)

in. Of the influence of aseociaiton an our active principles^
and on our moraljudgments. — In order to illustrate a little further
the influence of the association of ideas on the human mind, I
shall add a few remarks on some of its effects on our active
and moral principles. In stating these remarks, I shall en*
deavor to avoid, as much as possible, every occasicm of contro*
versy, by confining myself to such general views of the subject,
as do not presuppose any particular enumeration of our original
principles of action, or any particular system concerning the
nature of the moral faculty. If my health and leisure enable
me to cany my plan9 into execution, I propose, in the sequel of

t40 «n ixFLinBifos of casuai* AssociATioirt.

this work, to resnme these inquiries, and to examine the yarioiifl
opinions to which they have giren rise.

The manner in which the association of ideas operates in
producing new principles of action, has heen explained toij
distinctly bj different writers. Whatever conduces to the
gratification of any natural appetite, or any natural desire, is
itself desired on account of the end to which it is subservient ;
and by being thus habitually associated in our i^prehenskm
with agreeable olti^cts, it frequently comes, in process of time, ts
be regarded as valuable in itseh^ independently of its ntiUtf
It is thus that imoAA becomes, with many an mUifnat^ ^ed ^
pursuit; although, at first, it is undoubtedly vabed merely oa
account of its $uiservienejf to ths aUainment of o^mr otf^d^* In
like manner, men are led to desire dress, equipage, retinue,
fiimiture, on account of the estimation in which they we sup-
posed to be held by the publia Such desires are called by Dr.
Htttcheson, (see his Essay oa the I^atrae and Ccmduct cf tka
Passions,) ieeamdary desires i and their origin is expkined by
him in the way in which I have mentioned. ^Since we aie
eapable," says he, ^ of refection, memory, observation, and
vsasoning about the distant tendencies of objects and acdons,
and not confined to things present, there must arise, in conae*
qoence of our artgifud desires, ieemuhiy desires of every thing
imagined U80fut io gnOify any of ^primeuy d&8%re$,* and that
with strength proportioned to the several original derares^ and
imagined usefulness or necessity ot the advantageous object*
^ Thus,** he continues, ^ as soon as we come to apprehend the
use of wealth or power to gratify any of our original desires,
we must also desire them ; and hence arises ihe universality of
these desires of wealth and power, since they are the means of
gratifying all other desires.*^ The only thing that appears to
me exeeptimiable in the foregoing passage is, tiiat the author
classes the desire of pomer with that of iff0(M ; whereas I
af^rehend it to be clear, (for reasons which I diall stale in an*
other part of this wcwk,) that the former is a primaiy desire^
and the latter a secondary one.

H9W ouirnwrai juiffmenU art jMrv«r<l»d««- Our moral jv^S^

XaWLXmCE OV OASUAI. A8800XATI0K8. S41

Heate^ too^ maj be modified^ and eren perverted, to a certaia
degree, in consequence of the operation of the same principle.
In the same manner in which a person who is regarded as a
model of taste may introduce, by his example, an absurd or
fiuitastical dress ; so a man of splendid yirtues may attract
dcme esteem also to his imperfections ; and, if j^aced in a con-
spicuous situaticm, may render his vices and follies objects of
general imitation among the multitude.

<' In the reign of Charles IL" says Mr. Smith, (Theory of
Mond SenHmeni8y) ^ a degree of Hcentiottsness was deemed the
eharacteristie of a liberal education. It was connected, accord*
lag to the notions of those times, wiUi generosity, sincerity,
magnanimity, loyalty ; and proved that the person who acted in
this manner was a gentleman, and not a puritan. Severity of
manners and regularity of conduct, on the other hand, were
altogether unfashionable, and were connected, in the imagm*
ation of that age> with cant, cunning, hypocrisy, and low man*
ners. To superficial minds, the vices of the great seem at al
times agreeable. They coimect them, not only with the splendor
of fortune, but with many superior virtues which they ascribe
to their superiors ; with the spirit of freedom and indepen*
dency; with frankness, generosity, humanity, and pditeness;
The virtues of the inferior ranks of people, on the contrary,
their parumonious frugality, thdor painful industry, and rigid ad*
berence to rules, seem to th^n mean and disagreeable. They
connect them both with the meanness of the station to whidi
these qualities ounmonly belong, and with many great vices
which they suppose usually accompany them ; such as an al^ee^
cowardly, ilkmtured, lying, pilfering disposition."

I%e aUwyifi to retoho cM ow* affeeUoM cmd efte mond ietmo
uiio the a$80ciation of ideas, — The iheory which, in the fore*
going passages from Hutcheson and Smith, is employed so
justly and philosophically to explain the origin of our secondary
desires, and to account for some perversions of our moral jud^
ments, has been thought sufficient, by some later writers, to ac-
count for the origin of all our active principled without excep-
tion. The first of these attenqpts to extend so very fiur the

31

t4S VBM TKWLVWmOM 09 CASUAL AMOdATIOirB.

appfieation of the doctrine of Associalaoii was made bj Ike
Reverend Mr* Gray, in a dissertation ^ concerning the funda-
mental Principle of Virtae," which is prefixed by Dr. Law to
his translation of Archbishop King's essay ** on the Origin of
EviL** In this dissertation, the author endeavors to show,
^ that our approbation of morality, and all affections whatsoever,
are finally resolvable into reason, pointing out private happiness,
and are conversant only about things apprehended to be means
tending to this end ; and that, wherever this end is not perceived,
they are to be accounted for from the association of ideas, and
may properly be called haiUsJ* The same prindples have
been since pushed to a much greater length by Dr. Hartley,
whose system (as he himself mforms us) took rise from his
accidentally hearing it mentioned as an opinion of Mr. Gay,
^ that the association of ideas was sufficient to account for all
oar intellectual pleasures and pains.'' *

It must, I think, in justice, be acknowledged, that this theory,
oonceming the origin of our affections and of the moral sense,
is a most ingenious refinement upon the sdjUh s^fitem, as it was
formerly taught ; and that, by means of it, the force of many
of the common reasonings against that system is eluded. Among
these reasonings, particular stress has always been laid on t^ in-
stantcmeoumess with which our affections operate, and the moral
sense approves or condemns; and on our total want of conscious-
ness, in such cases, of any reference to our own happiness. The
modem advocates for the selfish system admit the fact to be as
it is stated by their opponents ; and grant, that (ifter the moral
tense and our varioue ejections are formed^ their exercise, in
particular cases, may become completely disinterested ; but stiU
they contend, that it is upon a. regard to our own happiness that
all these principles are originally graflted. The analogy of

* Mr. Hame, too, who in my opinion has carried this pnnciple of
the association of ideas a great deal too far, has compared tfaennlTersality
of its applications in the philosophy of mind, to that of the principle of
attraction in physics. "Here," says he, "is a kind of attraction , which
in the mental world will be fonnd to have as extraordinary effects as in
tiw natoral, and to show itself in as many and as rarious forms.''

THB IMFLUBMOS OV OASUAl. ASSOCIATIONS. 248

ayarice will serve to illastrate the scope of this theory It
cannot he doubted that this principle of action is artificial. It
is on account of the enjoyments which it enables us to purchase,
that money is originally desired ; and yet, in process of time, by
means of the agreeable impressions which are' associated with
it^ it comes to be desired for its own sake ; and even continues
to be an object of our pursuit, long after we have lost all relish
for those enjoyments which it enables us to command.

Without meaning to engage in any controversy on the subject,
I shall content myself with observing, in general, that there
must be some limit, beyond which the theory of association cannot
possibly be carried ; for the explanation which it gives, of the
formation of new principles of action, proceeds on the supposi-
tion that there are other principles previously existing in the
mind. The great question then is, when we are arrived at this
limit, or, in other words, when we are arrived at the simple and
original laws of our constituti<m.

Number of original principles in the mind, — In conducting
this inquiry, philosophers have been apt to go into extremes.
Lord Kaimes, aad some other authors, have been censured, and
perhaps justly, for a disposition to multiply original principles
to an unnecessary degree. It may be questioned, whether Dr.
Hartley and his folio wera have not. sometimes been misled by
too eager a desire of abridging their number.

Of these two errors, the former is the least common, and the
least dangerous. It is the least common, because it is not so
flattering as the other to the vanity of a theorist ; and it is the
least dangerous, because it has no tendency, like the other, to
give rise to a suppression or to a misrepresentation of facts ; or
to retard the progress of the science, by bestowing upon it an
appearance of systematical perfection, to which, in its present
state, it is not entitled.

Abstracting, however, from these inconveniences, which must
always result from a precipitate reference of phenomena to
general principles, it does not seem to me, that the theory in
question has any tendency to weaken the foundation of morals.
It has, indeed, some tendency, in common with tfa^ philosophy

t44 na mvLUBiroa ov caotal AssooiATioifs.

of Hobbeft and of Maodeville, to degrade the dignity of hnmiia
nature ; but it leads to no gkeptical conclusKms concerning the
role of life. For ahhongh we were to grant, that all oar prin-
ciples of action are acquired ; so striking a difference among
them must still be admitted, as is sufficient to distingaish clearfy
those uniTcrsal laws which were intended to regulate human
conduct, from the local habits which are formed by education
and fashion. It must stUl be admitted, that, while some active
principles are confined to particuhur individuals, or to particular
tribes of men, there are others, which, arising from circumstances
in whidi all the situations of mankind must agree, are common
to the whole species. Such active jHrinctf^es as fall under this
last description, at whatever period of life they may appear, are
to be regarded as a part of human nature, naless than the in-
stinct of suction ; in the same manner as the acquired perception
of distance by the eye, is to be ranked among the perceptive
powers of man, no less than the original perceptions of any of
our other srases.

Leaving, therefore, the question oonceming the origin of our
active principles and of the moral &culty, to be the subject of
future discussion, I shall conclude this Section with a few
remarks of a more practical nature.

Opinion of the reiative vakis of different pursuits, — It has
been shown by different writers, how much of the beauty and
sublimity of material objects arise from the ideas and feel-
ings which we have been taught to associate with them. The
impression produced on the external senses of a poet by the
most striking scene in nature, is precisely the same with what is
produced on the senses of a peasant or a tradesman ; yet how
different is the degree of pleasure resulting from this impres-
sion! A great part of thi^ difference is undoubtedly to be
ascribed to the ideas and feelings which the habitual studies and
amusements of the poet have associated with his organicai per-
ceptions.

A similar observation may be implied to all the various objeda
sf our pursuit in life. Hardly any one of them is appreciated
by any two men in the same maim.er ; and frequently, what on*

THE IIIFI.UENCS 09 CA0UAI. ▲SSOOIATIONS. 245

man considers as essential to his happiness is regarded with
indijfference or dislike bj another. Of these differences of
opinion much is, no doabt, to be ascribed to a diversity of con-
stitution, which renders a particular employment of the inteUeo-
tnal or active powers agreeable to one man which is not equally
so to another. But much is also to be ascribed to the effect of
association ; which, prior to any experience of human life, con-
nects pleasing ideas and pleasing feehngs with different objects,
in the minds of different persons.

In consequence of these assodationsy every man appears to
his neighbor to pursue the objects of his wishes with a zeal dis-
proportioned to its intrinsic value ; and the philosopher (whose
principal enjoyment arises £tY>m speculation) is frequently apt to
smile at the ardor. with which the active part of mankind pur-
sue what appear to him to be mere shadows. This view of
human affairs some writers have carried so &r, as to represent
life as a scene of mere illusions, where the mind refers to the
objects around it, a coloring which exists only in itself; and
where, as the poet expresses it^

" Opinion gilds with varying rays

Those painted clouds which beautify our days/'

It may be questioned, if these representations of human life
be useful or just. That the casual associations which the mind
forms in childhood and in early youth, are frequently a source
of inconvenience and of misconduct, is sufficiently obvious ; but
that this tendency of our nature increases, on the whole, the
sum of human enjoyment, appears to me to be indisputable ;
and the instances in which it misleads us from our duty and our
happiness, only prove to what important ends it might be sub-
servient if it were kept under proper regulation.

Nor do these representations of life (admitting them in their
full extent) justify the practical inferences which have been
often deduced from them with respect to the vanity of our pur-
suits. In every case, indeed, in which our enjoyment depends
upon association, it may be said, in one sense, that it arises
from the mind itself; but it does not, therefore, follow, that the
21*

S46 tn mvLunrcs ov oasoai. AssooiATiom.

external object wliieh eiutom has rendered the cause or tke
occasion of agreeable emotions, is indifferent to our happiness.
The effect which the beauties of nature produce on the mind of
the poet is wonderfully heightened bj association ; but his enjoy-
ment is noton thataccount the less exquisite ; nor are the objects
of his admiration of the less value to lus happiness, that they de-
rive their principal charms from the embellishments of his mncj.

After all the complaints that have been made of the peculiar
distresses which are incident to cultivated minds, who would
exchange the sensibilities of his intellectual and moral being
for the apathy of those whose only avenues of pleasure and
pain are to be found in their animal nature; ^who move
thoughtlessly in the narrow circle of their existence, and to
whom the fidling leaves present no idea but that of approaching
winter?"— GosCAs.

EffeeU which education might produce. *- It is the business of
education, not to counteract, in any instance, the established
laws of our constitution, but to direct them to their proper pur-
poses. That the influence of early associations on the mind
might be employed, in the most effectual manner, to aid our moral
principles, appears evidently from the effects which we daily see
it produce, in reconciling men to a course of action which
their reason forces them to condemn ; and it is no less obvious
that by means of it, the happiness of human Hfe might be in-
creased, and its pains diminished, if the agreeable ideas and
feelings which children are so apt to connect with events and
with situations which depend on the caprice of fortune, were
firmly associated in their apprehensions with the duties of their
stations, with the pursuits of science, and with those beauties of
nature which are open to all.

These observations coincide nearly with the ancient Stoical
doctrine concerning the influence of imagination * on morals ;

* According to the ate which I make of the words imagination and asaa-
dation in this work, their effects are obviously distinguishable. I have
thought it proper, however, to illustrate the difference between them a litUe
more fully.

The difference between the effects of association and of imagination, ia

IBS nmimCE ov oasual ▲880CiikTX0H& 247

a subject on which rnanj important remarks, (thongh expressed
in a form different from that which modem philosophers have
introduced, and, perhaps, not altogether so precise and accu-
rate,) are to be found in the Discourses of £pictetus, and in
the Meditations of Antoninus. This doctrine of the Stoici^
school Dr. Akenside has in view in the following passage : —

" Action treads the path
In which Opinion says he follows good.
Or flies from eril; and Oinnion giras
Report of good or OTil, as the scene

the sense in which I employ these words, in heightening the pleasure or
the pain produced on the mind by external objects, will appear from the
Ibllowing remaiks : —

1. Ak fiur as the association of ideas operates in heightening pleasure or
pain, the mind is passive.* and accordingly, where such associations are a
source of inconvenience, they are seldom to be cured by an effort of our
Yolition^ or eren by reasoning ; but by die gradual formation of oontrarj
stfsociatioBS. i4mag:ination is an active exertion of the mind ; and al-
though it nikf often be difficult to restrain it, it is plainly distinguishable
hi theory fit>m the associations now mentioned.

2. li every case in which the association of ideas operates, it is implied
that some pleasure or pain is recalled which was feU 6y tks mind b^bre, I
▼isit, for example, a scene where I have been once happy ; and the sight of
it affects me, on that account, with a degree of pleasure, which I should
not have received from any other scene equally beautiful. I shall not
inqidre, whether, in such cases, the associated pleasure arises immediately
opon the sight of the object, and without the intervention of any train of
thought ; or whether it is produced by the recollection and conception of
Ibrmer occurrences which the perception recalls. On neither supposition
does it imply the exercise of that creative power of the mind to which we
have given tiie name of Imagination, It is true, that commonly, on such
occasions, imagination is busy ; and our pleasure is much heightened by
the coloring which she gives to the objects of memory. But the difference
between the effects which arise fW>m the operation of tiiis hcvUty, and those
which result from association, is not, on that account, the less real.

The influence of imagination on happiness is chiefly felt by eMvated
mind». That of association extends to aU ranks of men, and fhmishes the
chief instrument of education ; insomuch that whoever has the regnlatioa
0f the associations of another fh>m early infimcy, is, to a great degree, the
arbiter of his happiness or misery.

Some very mgenious writers have employed the word tmoeiatim ia m

S48 TBS mFLUKHCB OF CASUAL ASSOCIATIOllS.

Wm drawn by fiiacj, lovely or deformed :

Thiu her report can nerer there be tme.

Where fancy cheats the intellectual eye

With glaring colors and distorted lines.

Is there a man, who at the sound of death

Sees ghastly shapes of terror conjured up.

And blac^ before him : nought but death-bed groaoa

And fearful prayers, and plunging from the brink

Of light and being, down the gloomy air.

An unknown depth 1 Alas ! in such a mind.

If no bright forms of excellence attend

The image of his country ; nor the pomp

Of sacred senates, nor the guardian Toioe

Of justice on her throne, nor ought that wakes

The conscious bosom with a patriot's flame :

Will not Opinion tell him, that to die.

Or stand the hazard, is a greater ill

Than to betray his country ? And in act

Will he not choose to be a wretch and live ?

Here vice begins then." — Pleasures of LnagifMhon, b. iiL

rV. General renuxrhs on the subjects treated in tie foregoing
sections. — In pursuing the foregoing Sections of 'l&is Chapter,
I am aware, that some of my readers may be apt to thinl^ that
many of the observations which I have made, might easiljr be
resolved into more general principles. I am also aware, that to
the followers of Dr. Hartley, a similar objection will occur

extensive a sense, as to comprehend, not only imagination, but all the
other Acuities of the mind. Wherever the pleasing or the painful effect of
an object does not depend solely on the object itself, but arises either
wholly or in part from some mental operation to 'which the perception of it
gives rise, the effect is referred to association. And, undoubtedly, this
language may be employed with propriety, if the word association be ap-
plied to all the ideas and feelings which may arise in the mind, in conse-
quence of the exercise which the sight of the object may give to the
imagination, to the reasoning powers, and to the other principles of onr
nature. But in this work, and particularly in the second part of chap^ v.,
I employ the word assodation in a much more limited sense ; to express
the effect tohkh an object derives from, ideas, or from fedings which it does not
neeeasariUf suggest, hut which it uniformly recalls to the mind, in consequence of
SBohi and long continued habits.

TfiS INFLUENCE OF CASUAL AS80CIATZOH8. 249

Against all the other parts of this work ; and that it will appear
to them the effect of inexcusable prejudice, that I shall stop
short so frequently in the explanation of phenomena ; when he
has accounted in so satisfactory a manner, bj means of the
association of ideas, for all the appearances which human nature
exhibits.

To Uiis objection, I shall not feel myself much interested to
reply, provided it be granted that my observations are candidly
and accurately stated, so far as they reach. Supposing that in
some cases I may have stopped short too soon, my speculations,
although they may be censured as imperfect, cannot be con-
sidered as standing in opposition to the conclusions of more
successful inquirers.

May I be allowed further to observe, that such views of the
human mind as are contained in this work, (even supposing the
objection to be well founded,) are, in my opinion, indispensably
necessary, in order to prepare the way for those very general
and comprehensive theories concerning it, which some eminent
writers of the present age have been ambitious to form ?

Concerning the merit of these theories, I shall not presume to
give any judgment I shall only remark, that, in all the other
sciences, the progrets of digcavery luu been gradMoJl^ from the
less general to the more general laws of nature ; and that it
would be singular, indeed, if in the philosophy of the human
mind, a science which but a few years ago was confessedly in its
infancy, and which certainly labors under many disadvantages
peculiar to itself, a step should, all at once, be made to a single
principle comprehending all the particular phenomena which we
know.

ParHcular facU are to he taaghi first; refined ^eoriee after*
wards. — Supposing such a theory to be completely established,
it would still be proper to lead the minds of students to it by
gradual steps. One of the most important uses of theory, is to
give the memory a permanent hold, and a prompt command, oi
the particular facts which we were previously acquainted with ;
and no theory can be completely understood, unliss the mind bo
led to it nearly in the order of investigation.

iSO TBS tKWLVMKCn OV OXtSUAL AflSOCt^VIOm.

It is more puticalarlj iMefol^ in oooducting die studies of
elliers, to familiarise thdr minds, as completely as posBiUe, witll
those laws of natore for which we hare the direct evidoioe of
sense, or of oonsdoosness, before directiog their inquiries to the
more abstruse and refined generalisations of specolattve enri»
osity. In natural philosophy, supposing the theory of Boscorich
to be true, it would still be proper, or rather indeed abscdntely
necessary, to accustom students, in the first stage of their physi*
cal education, to dwell oo those general physical facts wludi fiill
under our actual obsenration, and about which all tlie praeticsl
arts of life are eonversant In like manner, in the pliilos<^hy
of mind, there are many general &cts for which we bare the
direct evidence of consciousness. The words, aUeniion, etmeefh
lisfi, memory^ €ibitraeti9n^ imaginaiiony etmodtifj ambiiian, cam-
poMsiomj resetUmenij express powers and principles of our nature,
which every man may study by reflecting on his own internal
^leratiotts* Words corresponding to these are to be found m
all languages, and may be considered as forming the first attempt
towards a philosophical classification of intollectual and moral
phenomena. Such a classification, however imperfect and indis-
tinct, we may be assured, must have some fi>undation in nature ;
and it is at least prudent, for a philosopher to keep it in view as
the groundwork of his own arrangement. It not only directs
our attention to those facts in the human constitution, on which
every solid theory in this branch of science must be Unaided ;
but to the facts, which, in all ages, have ai^>eared to the comoKm
sense of mankind to be the most striking and important; and
of which it ought to be the great object of dieorists, not to
supersede, but to facilitate the study.

DiJUetdiy afreBoMngfateU into general prineiphs. — - There is
indeed good reason for believing, that many of the facts wladi
our consciousness would lead us to consider, upon a superficial
view, as ultimate &cts, are resolvable into other principles still
more generaL " Long before we are capi^le of reflection,'* says
Dr. Beid, ^ the original perceptions and notions of the mind are
so mixed, compounded, and decompounded, by hab^ \
tions, and abstractions, that it is extremely difl^eiilt for the i

«nX mJTLUBKCB OF CASUAL ASSOCIATIOITS. 2U

lo return upon its oirn footstepcr, and trace back those operationt
which hare emplojed it since it first began to think and to act."
The same author remaiks, that, ^ if we could obtain a distinct
and full histOTj of all that hath passed in the mind of a child.
fiiHn the beginning of life and sensation, till it grows up to the
use of reason ; how its infant fiusulties began to work, and how
they brought forth and ripened all the various notions, opinions,
and sentunents, whidi we find in ourselves when we come to
be capable of reflection ; this would be a treasure of Natural
History, which would probably give more light into the human
fisusulties than all the systems of philosophers about them, since
the beginning of the world." To accomplish an analysis of
diese complicated phenomena into the simple and original prin*
ciples <^ our constitution, is the great object <^ this branch of
philosophy ; but, in order to succeed, it is necessary to ascertain
facts before we begin to reason, and to avoid generalizing, in
any instance, till we have completely secured the ground that
we have gained. Such a caution, which is necessary in all the
sciences, is, in a more particular manner, necessary here, where
the very fiusts from which all our inferences must be drawn, are
to be ascertained only by the most patient attention ; and where
abBost all of them are, to a great degree, disguised ; pardy by
the inaccuracies of popular language, and partly by the mistaken
theories of philosophers.

Hhuiraiiani drawn from the pkibmphj^ of^emUhy. — As the
order established in the intellectual world seems to be r^ulated
by laws perfectly analogous to those which we trace among the
phenomena of the material system ; and as in all our philosophical
Inquiries, (to whatever subject they may relate,) the progress of
the mind is liable to be affected by the same tendency to a pre*
mature g^ieralization, the following extract from an eminent
chemical writer may contribute to illustrate the scope, and to
confirm the justness, of some of the foregoing reflections.

^ Within the last fifteen or twenty years, several new metals
and new earths have been made known to the world. The
ttames that support these discoveries are respectable, and the
experiments decisive. If we do not give our assent to them, na

S68 THS nrrLUKKOB of oiiiuAL AssociAnom.

nngle propoflition in chemiHtay can for a moment stand. Bat
whether all these are reallj simple substances, or compounds
not jet resolved into their elements, is what the authms them«
selves cannot possiblj assert ; nor would it in the least diminish
the merit of their observations, if future experiment should prove
them to have been mistaken as to the simplicity of these sub-
stances* This remaik should not be confined to late discoveries ;
it maj as justly be applied to those earths and metals with which
we have been long acquainted." — ^ In the dark ages of chemis-
try, the object was to rival nature ; and the substance which the
adepts of those days were busied to create, was universallj
allowed to be simple. In a more enlightened period, we have
extended our inquiries, and multiplied the number of the ele-
ments. The last task will be to simplify ; and, by a closer
observation of nature, to learn from what small store of primi-
tive materials, all that we behold and wonder at was created."
Chenevix' Lf^quiries concerning Palladium.

The analogy between the history of Chemistry and that of
the Philosophy of the Human Mind, which has oflen struck me
in contrasting the views of the alchemist with those of Lavoisier
and his followers, has acquired much additional value and im-
portance in my estimation, since I had the pleasure to peruse a
late work of M. de Gerando ; in which I find, that the same
analogy has presented itself to that most judicious philosopher,
and has been applied by him to the same practical purpose, of
exposing the false pretensions and premature generalizations of
Mome modem metaphysicians.

"^ It required nothing less than the united splendor of the dis-
coveries brought to light by the new chemical school, to tear the
minds of men from the pursuit of a simple andprimany elemeni ;
a pursuit renewed in every age with an indefatigable persever-
ance, and always renewed in vain. With what feelings of con-
tempt would the physiologists of former times have looked down
on the chemists of the present age, whose limited and circum-
scribed system admits nearly forty different principles in fbit
composition of bodies I What a subject of ridicule would t]M
new nomenclature have afforded to an alchemist! "

THE INFLUENOE OF CASUAL ASSOCIATIONS. 253'

<<The Philosophj of Mind has its alchemists also: — men
whose studies are directed to the pursuit of one single principle,
into which the whole science may be resolved, and who flatter
themselves with the hope of discovering the grand secret, bj
which the pure Gold of Truth may be produced at pleasure."

Among these alchemists in the science of the mind, the first
place is undoubtedly due to Dr. Hartley, who not only attempts
to account for all the phenomena of human nature from the
single principle of assoctatiany combined with the hypothetical
assumption of an invisible fluid or etker^ producing vibrations in
the medullary substance of the brain and nerves ; but indulges
his imagination in anticipating an era, ^ when future generations
shall put all kinds of evidences and inquiries into mathematical
forms ; reducing Aristotle's ten Categories and Bishop Wilkins*
forty Summa Genera, to the head of quantity alone, so as to
make Mathematics and Logic, Natural History and Civil His-
tory, Natural Philosophy and philosophy of all other kinds,
coincide omni ex parted* If I had never read another sentence
of this author, I should have required no further evidence of
the unsoundness of his understanding.

The namenckUure of philosophy. — I have only to add, that,
although I have retained the phrase of the association of ideaij
in compliance with common language, I am far from being com-
pletely satisfied with this mode of expression. I have retained
it, chiefly that I might not expose myself to the censure of
delivering old doctrines in a new form.

As I have endeavored to employ it with caution, I hope that it
has not oflen misled me in my reasonings. At the same time,
I am more and more convinced of the advantages to be derived
from a reformation of the common language, in most of the
branches of science. How much such a reformation has effected
in Chemistry is well known; and it is evidently much more
necessary in the Philosophy of Mind, where the prevailing lan-
guage adds to the common inaccuracies of popular expressions,
the peculiar disadvantage of being all suggested by the analogy
of matter. Ofien, in the composition of this work, have I recol-
lected the advice of Bergman to Morveau : ^ Ir reforming the

22

t54 MSMOBT*

Bom^ichitiiire of Ok^nustrjy vptat no mjiri wUeh is improget.
Thtj who imdorBtaiid the subject alrelMlyy w31 suffer bo inooiH
venience ; and thej to whom the subject is new, wiH oompi^head
it with the greater facility.'* But it belongs to sodi anthcHrs
alone as have extended the boundaries o£ science bj th^ own
discorerieSy to introduce innoTations in language with any hope
of I

CHAPTER VI.

OV ICBMOBT.

I. Gmerai ohervaUom en Manory. — Among the various
powers of the understanding, there is none which has been so
attentively ezttouned by philosc^hers^ or concerning which so
many important fiicts and observations have been collected, as
the faculty of Memory. This is partly to be ascribed to its
j»ture, which renders it e<w% diUinguishcible from aU ih^ other
prinetpk^ of our constitution, even by those who have not been
accustomed to metaphysical investigations; and partly to its
immediaU iiibsennencj^ not only to the pursuits of science, but
to the ordinary hmneee ofUfe; in consequence of which, many
of its most carious laws had been observed, l(Hig before any
analysis was attempted of the other powers of the mind, and
hav^, for many ages, formed a part of the common maxima
which are to be found in every treatise of education. Some
knpoilant remarks on the sul^ct may, in particular, be collected
from the writings of the ancient rhetorickuis.

Different significations of Memory. — The word Memory is
not employed uniformly in the same precise sense ; but it always
expresses some modification of that faculty, which enables us to
treasure up and preserve for future use the knowledge we
acquire, — a &eulty which is obviously the great foundation x£ all

M^kic««al liiqpyt>¥ei»eilt, und witiioat vrUch no advttritagD ocmU
hn derived from l^e moei enlarged experience* I^is ^ieuky
tepives ^te things^ -^a mp&ei^ of retaminff h^&^J^ trnd it
fM>«i^0/> ofreeaUing it to 'tnur thought when we have oociEis&on to
^^7 it to use. The word Memorj is sometimes employed to
express die ctgmefiitg^ and sometimes the powet* When we speak
ef « r00^»^*t>0 Memory^ we use it in l^e former sense $ when of
a i/^eadj^ Memorj) in the latter.

The various {Myiaeulars which compose oar stodt of knowl*
edge «pe> from Hme to time> recalled to cur thoughts in one of
two ways ; sometimes thej recttr to us qnmianeausfy^ or at leasts
wit^ett any intoi<feren»e on our part ( in odier cases^ they are
tecslled in comt^qaence of an ^ffbrt of our mB. For the fiMrmer
dperatixm oi the mmd, we have no appropriated name in our
km^guage distinct fnMn Memory. The latter^ too, is often caUed
by the same name, but is more properly distinguished by the
word recoUectkm.

T%ere are, I believe, some other acceptatkms besides these^in
which the Word M^nory has been occasionally employed ; but
as its ambigiiities are not of such a nature as to mislead us in
tmr present inquiries, I shall not dwell any longer on the iUus-
ti^ation ^ distinctions, which, to the greater part of readers^
mrghlt appear unintoresting md minute.* One disUnction only
tekftive to this sti^bject occurs to me as deserving partioultf
i^terition.

Msmoty inv&hes an idea of the paH.-^The opertttioBS of

* In the French tongne, there are several words connected with this
operation of the mind, marking nice shades of meaning, which cannot he
expressed in our language without circumlocution. 8uch (according to
Girai'd) are the Words M^motre and Souvenir, the fonner referring to the
tinderstanding alone, the latter^ to things which also toach or a£fect the
heart. This distinction was plainly in the view of Diderot, in a passage
which it is scarcely possible to translate into English without impairing
somewhat of the beauty of the original. " Rapportez tout an dernier mo-
ment ; h ce moment oh la m^moire des faits les plus dclatants ne vaudra
pas le souvenir d'un verre d'eau pr^sentd par bomanit^ k celm qui avoH
■oif."

lit JOMOBT.

MemoTf relate eilher to thiop and their relations^ or to eveoti.
In the former case, thoughts which have been previoaslj in the
mind maj recur to us without ntggeUing the idea of the past^ or
of anj modification of time whatever; as when I repeat over a
poem which I have got hj heart, or when I think of the features
of an absent friend. In this last instance, indeed, philosophers
distinguish die act of the mind hj the name of concepticn ; bat
in ordinaiy discourse, and frequently even in philosophical writ-
ing, it is considered as an exertion of Memory. In these and
similar cases, it is obvious, that the operations of this fiuMiltj do
not necessarily involve the idea of the past.

The case is different with respect to the Memory of events.
When I think of these, I not only recall to the mind the former
objects of its thoughts, but I refer the event to a particular
point of time ; so that, of every such act of Memory, ike idea
of the poit is a necessary concomitant.

I have been led to take notice of this distinction, in order to
obviate an objection which some of the phenomena of Memory
seem to present, against a doctrine which I formerly stated,
when treating of the powers of conception and imagination.

ffow conception passes intOj or becomes^ Memory, — It is evi-
dent that, when I think of an event, in which any object of
sense was concerned, my recollection of the event must neces-
sarily involve an act of conception* Thus, when I think of a
dramatic representation which I have recently seen, my recol-
lection of what I saw, necessarily involves a conception of the
different actors by whom it was performed. But every act of
recollection which relates to events, is accompanied with a belief
of their past existence. How then are we to reconcile this con-
clusicm with the doctrine formerly maintained concerning concep-
tion, according to which, every exertion of that power is
accompanied with a belief that its object exists before \ia at the
present moment 1

The only way that occurs to me of removing this difficulty, is
by supposing, that the remembrance of a past event is not a
simple act of the mind; but that the mind first forms a concep-
tion of the eirent, and then judges from circumstances of the

MEXOBT. 257

period of time to wbich it is to be referred ; a supposition which
is hj no means a grataitons one, inyented to answer a particular
purpose ; but which, as far as I am able to judge, is agreeable
to fact ; for if we have the power, as will not be disputed, of
conceiving a past event without any reference to time, it follows,
that there is nothing in the ideas or notions which Memory pre-
sents to us, which is necessarily accompanied with a belief of
past existence, in a way analogous to that in which our percep-
tions are accompanied with a belief of the present existence
of their objects ; and, therefore, that the reference of the event
to the particular period at which it happened, is a judgment
£>unded on concomitant circumstances. So long as we are
occupied with the conception of any particular object connected
with the event, we believe the present existence of the object ;
but this belief, which, in most cases, is only momentary, is
instantly corrected by habits of judging acquired by experience ;
and as soon as the mind is disengaged from such a belief, it is
left at liberty to refer the event to the period at which it actually
happened. Nor will the apparent instantaneousness of such
judgments be considered as an unsurmountable objection to
the doctrine now advanced, by those who have reflected on
the perception of distance obtained by sight, which, although
it seems to be as immediate as any perception of touch, has
been shown by philosophers to be the result of a judgment
founded on experience and observation. The reference we
make of past events to the particular points of time at which
they took place, wOl, I am inclined to think, the more we con-
sider the subject, be found the more strikingly analogous to the
estimates of distance we learn to form by the eye.

Although, however, I am, myself, satisfied with the conclusion
to which the foregoing reasonings lead, I am far from expecting
that the case will be the same with all my readers. Some of
their objections, which I can easily anticipate, might, I believe,
be obviated by a little further discussion ; but as the question is
merely a matter of curiosity, and has no necessary connection
with the observations I am to make in this chapter, I shall not
prosecute the subject at present. The opinion, indeed, we form

22*

S88 axKOKT.

maceimag it, Kat no reference to ea j of the doelrmes mahk'
tained in this work, exoepiing to a particalar epeenlation eon-
eeming the belief aecompanjiDg eoneepHm^ which I Tentaied
to state m treating of that subject, and which, as it appears to
be extremely doubtful to some whose opinions I respeet, I pro-
posed with a degree of diffidence suitable to the difficult j of such
an inquiry* The remaining observations which I am to make
on the power of M&maryy whatever opinion may be iformed <^
their importanee, will furnish but little room for a diversity of
judgment concerning their truth.

Wk^ ^H rememhet $ome Aingt ieMcr iham otken. — In eon-
sidertng this part of our constitotion, one oi the most obvious
and striking questions thai occurs^ is, what the drciimstanoee are
which det^mine the Memory to retain some things i^ pr^rence
to others? Among the subjects which successively occupy our
ihoughts, by hr the greater number vanish without leaving a
trace behind them ; while others become, as it were, a part ei
ourselves, and, by their accumulations, lay a foundation for our
pi^rpetual progress in knowledge. Without pretending to ex-
haust the subject, I shall content myself at present with a parv
tial sohition of this difficulty, by illustrating the dependence c^
Memory upon two principles of our nature, with which it is
plainly very intimately connected ; attention and the assoeiaiioH
qfideaa.

I endeavored in a former chapter to show, that there is a
certain act of the mind, (distinguished, both by philosophers
and the vulgar, by the name of attention,) without which even
the olgects of our perceptions make no impression on the Mem-
ory. It is also matter of common remark, that the permanence
of the impression which any thing leaves in the Memory, is
proportioned to the degree of attention which was originally
given to it The observation has been so often repeated, and is
so manifestly true, thai it is unnecessary to offer any illustration
of it*

* It seems to be owing to this dependence of memory on attention, tfa«t
it U easier to gel bf heart a composition after a reiy ftw readings, widb

AUmHan gomettims BpaiUamous^ and $omeHmn reqmm effbrt.
•— I haT« cmlj to observe further, witk respect U) aUention^ con-
sfdered in the relation in which it stands to Memory, that al-
though it be a voluntarj act, it requires experience to have it
idwajfg under command. In the case of objects to which we
have been taught to attend at an earlj period of life, or which
are calculated to rouse the curiosity, or to affect anj of our
passions, the attention fixes itself upon them, as it were sponta-
neously, and without any effort on our part, of which we are
ccmsdous^ How perlectlj do we remember, and even retain,
for a long course of years, the faces and the handwritings of
our acquaintances, although we never took any particular pains
to fix then(i in the Memoi^* ? On the other hand, if an object
does not interest some principle of our nature, we may examine
it again and again, with a wish to treasure up the knowledge of
it in the mind, without our hemg able to command that degree
of attention which may lead us to recognize it the next time we
see it. A perspn, for example, who has not been accustomed to
attend particularly to horses or to cattle, may study for a con-
siderable time the appearance of a horse or of a buUock, with
out being able, a few days afterwards, to pronounce on his iden-
tity; while a horse-dealer or a grazier recollects many hundreds
of that class of animals with which he is conversant, as per-
fectly as he does the faces of his acquaintances. In order to
account for this, I would remark, that although attention be a
voluntary act, and although we are always able, when we ^shoose,
to make a momentary exertion of it ; yet, unless the object to
which it is directed be really interesting, in some degree, to the

an attempt to repeat it at the end of each, than after a hundred readings
withont such an effort. The effort rouses the attention from that languid
state in which it remains, while the mind is giving a passive reception to
foreign ideas. The fact is remarked by Lord Bacon, and is explained "by
him on the same principle to which I have referred it.

" Qua expectantnr et attentionem excitant, melius hserent quam quaa
protervolant. Itaque si scriptum aliquod vicies perlegeris, non tam facile
illud memoriter disces, quam si illud legas decies, tentando interim illod
redtare, et ubi deficit m«morta, inspidendo Ubrum.'* — Bacon, Nov Org.
lib. n. aph. 26.

MO ICXMOBT.

cariosity, the tnun of our ideas goes <»i, and we immedialely
forget our purpose. When we are employed, therefore, in
studying such an object, it is not an exclusiye and steady atten-
tion that we give to it, but we are losing sight of it, and recur-
ring to it every instant ; and the painful efforts of which we are
conscious, are not, (as we are apt to suppose them to be,)
efforts of uncommon attention, but unsuccessful attempts to
keep the mind steady to its object, and to exclude the extrane-
ous ideas, which are from time to time soliciting its notice.

If these observations be well founded, they afford an ex-
planation of a fact which has often been remarked, that objects
are easily remembered which affect any of the passions.* The
passion assists the Memory, not in consequence of any immedi-
ate connection between them, but as it presents, during the time
it continues, a steady and exclusive object to the attention.

The connection between Memory and the associcOion of %dea$,
is so striking, that it has been supposed by some, that the whole
of its phenomena might be resolved into this principle. But
this is evidently not the case. The association of ideas connects
our various thoughts with each other, so as to present them to
the mind in a certain order ; but it presupposes the existence c^
these thoughts in the mind ; or, in other words, it presupposes a
faculty of retaining the knowledge which we acquire. It involves,
also, a power of recognizing, as former objects of attention, the
thoughts that from time to time occur to us ; a power which is
not implied in that law of our nature which is called the associ-
ation of ideas. It is possible, surely, that our thoughts might
have succeeded each other, according to the same laws as at

* " Si qnas res in vita videmas, parvas, usitatas, quotidianas, eas me-
minisse non solemus ; propterea quod nulla nisi nova aut admirabili ro
commovetur animus. At si quid videmus aut audimus egregie turpe, aut
honestum, inusitatum, magnum, incredibile, ridicnlum, id diu meniinisse
consueviraus." [When we witness things that are small, common, and of
daily recurrence, we do not usually remember them ; for the mind is not
ytirred except by something new and wonderful. But if we see or hear
any thing remarkably base, honorable, unusual, great, incredible, or ridica
k>os, it generally remains long in the memory.] — Ad. Hereon, lib. 3.

MSMOBT. 961

presenly without enggestiog to us at aU the idea of the past ;
f^ld9 in &cty this supposition is realized to a certain degree in
the case of some old men, who retain pretty exactly the infor-
mation which thej receive, but are sometimes unable to recollect
in what manner the particulars which they find connected
together in their thoughts, at first came into the mind ; whether
they occurred to them in a dream, or were communicated to
them in conversation.

On the other hand, it is evident, that without the associating
principle, the powers of retaining our thoughts, and of recog-
nizing them when they occur to us, would have been of little
use ; for the most important articles of our knowledge might
have remained latent in the mind, even when those occasions
presented themselves to which they are immediately applicable.
In consequence of this law of our nature, not only are all our
various ideas made to pass, from time to time, in review before
us, imd to ofier themselves to our choice as subjects of medita-
tion, but when an occasion occurs which calls for the aid of our
past experience, the occasion itself recalls to us all the informa-
tion upon the subject which that experience has accumulated.

The foregoing observations comprehend an analysis of Memory
anfficiently accurate for my present purpose; some other re-
marks, tending to illustrate the same subject more completely^
will occur in the remaining sections of this chapter.

Memory itself is an ultimate and inexpKcahU fact. — It is
hardly necessary for me to add, that when we have pro-
ceeded so &r in our inquiries concerning Memory, as to obtain
an analysis of that power, and to ascertain the relation in which
it stands to the other principles of our constitution, we have
advanced as far towards an explanation of it as the nature of
the subject permits. The various theories which have attempted
to account for it by traces or impressions in the sensorium, are
obviously too unphilosophical to deserve a particular refutation.*

* The following passage from Malebranche will be a sufficient specimen
of the common theories with respect to memory.

"In order to give an explanation of. memory, it dhonld be called t9
»ind, that all our different perceptions are affixed to thi changes whkl

S62 MEMOBT*

Sach, indeed, is the poverty of langaage, that we cannot speak
on tEe subject without employing expressions which suggest one
theory or another ; but it is of importance for us always to recol-
lect, that these expressions are entirely figurative, and afford no
explanation of the phenomena to which they refer. It is partly

happen to the fibres of the principal parts of the brain, wherein the son!
particularly resides.

" This supposition being laid down, the nature of the memoiy is ex-
plained ; for as the branches of a tree, which have continued some time
bent after a particular manner, preserve a readiness and facility of being
bent afresh in the same manner ; so the fibres of the brain, having once
received certain impressions from the current of the animal spirits, and
from the action of the objects upon them, retain for a considerable time
some facility of receiving the same dispositions. Now the memory consists
only in that promptness or focility ; since a man thinks upon the same
things, whenever the brain receives the same impressions." — BookiL
chap. y. •

The diifercnt changes which this power of the mind undergoes, in the
course of our progress through life, are explained by some other writers by
means of the following hypothesis. " The mind," we are told, " is like
wax, which may be softened too much to retain, or too little to receive, an
impression. In childhood, the material is too soft, and gives way to im-
pressions, but does not retain them. In old age, it is hard, and retains the
impressions formerly made, but does not receive any new ones. In man-
hood, the consistence is at once proper to receive and to retain die impres-
sions which are made upon it." I quote the last sentences on tlfe authority
of Dr. Ferguson, as I don't know from what writer they are taken. In the
main, the theory here described agrees with that of Aristotle.

The habitual use we make of the art of printing and of writing, in the
acquisition and in the preservation of our knowledge, is apt to predispose
the understanding in favor of this last theory. We conceive the memory in
particular (not unnaturally, I own, upon a superficial view of the subject)
to be analogous to a tablet, on which certain traces are left ; by recurring to
which, the mind can, as it were, rtad, without any fresh aids from without,
the recorded results of its former experience or reflection.

Admitting, for a moment, the existence of these impressions, the ques-
tion still recurs, what is the nature of that thinking and percipient being
which reads the impressions, and avails itself of their aid in the exercise
of its various difiBcuUies ? Who taught the mind to interpret their import,
and to annex to them notions as foreign to themselves, as alphabetical
characters are to the information which they convey ? Even upon this
iQjpposition, therefore, the mystery is not less astonishing than if a child.

MBMOBT. 8M

with a view to remind my readers of this consideration, ihal^
finding it impossible to laj aside completely metaphorical or

without any instructions, were to read a book, the first time it was put into
bis hands, with a full comprehension of the author's meaning.

But what I wish chieflj to insist on at present, is the obviouslj illogical
inference which so many ingenious men seem to have been disposed to
draw from the supposed impressions on the material substance of the brain,
against the immateriality of that being (that thinking and percipient I)
which reads and interprets these impressions. If the hypothesis which
forms the foundation of this argument be true, all that follows from it is,
that, in the operations of perception and of memory, a process is carried
on by the mind in the dark recesses of the brain, analogous to what takes
place when it reads, bj the intervention of the eye, the characters of a book.
The question (it ought alwajs to be remembered) is not about the nature
of the thing read, but about the nature of the reader, I9 the case of the
book, no one thinks of identifying the reader's mind with the texture of the
paper, or with the chemical composition of the ink. Why then should it
be imagined, that any step is made towards materialism by supposing that
an invisible book exists in the senaorium, by the interpretation of which we
are enabled to perceive external objects ; and, by a reference to which, we
recover, as in a tablet, the knowledge which has happened to escape from
the memory ?

[To the hypothesis that me^iory takes place through the impressions
which are left upon the brain, Dr. Reid justly objects, " that there is no
evidence nor probability that the cause assigned does exist ; that is, that
the impression made upon the brain in perception remains after the object is
removed" Still further ; if the impression be the cause of memory, so
long as the cause continues, the effect ought to cofltinne also ; that is, the
idea should never fade or disappear from the mind, but the memory, or
rather the perception, should be continuous. I saw a particular horse
yesterday ; and tiie impression made upon my brain by that perception,
according to this hypothesis, is the cause of my remembrance of that horse.
Then, as the impression left upon the brain must have lasted through the
interval from yesterday till to-day, I ought never to have forgotten the
horse, but the idea or recollection of it should have been constantly present
to my mind. It should have been, not memory, but continuous perception,
though growing fainter and fainter every moment, as the impression was
gradually effaced. But this is not the case. Some accidental circumstance
may suddenly recall to mind a person whom I had neither seen nor thought
of for many years. Where was the impression of his face upon my brain
during these intervening years ? If it remained there, why did I ever Ibiw
fet him It- why did I ever cease to see him?]

IM MSMOMT.

aaakekal tvwd% I hkre itadied to mmd tndi an udlbrDii^ In
the employiiient of them, as might iadieate a pFofereiiee to one
theory rather than another ; and, hj doing so, have perhi^M
sometimes been led to Tary the metaphor ofiener and more snd-
denljy than would be proper in a composition which aimed at
any degree of elegance. This caution in the use of the eMnmon
language concerning Memory, it seemed to me the more neces-
sary to attend to, that the general disposition which every per-
son feels at the commencement of his philosophical pursuits, to
exphan the phenomena of thought by the laws of matter, is, in
the case of this particubir faculty, encouraged by a variefy of
peouliar dreomstances. The analogy between committing a
thing to Memory that we wish to remember, and engraving on
a tablet a fiict that we wish to record, is so striking as to present
itself even to the vulgar ; nor is it perhaps less natural to in<
dulge the fancy in considering Memory as « tori of repotii^r^
in which we arrange and preserve for fbture use the materisls
of our information. The immediate dependence, too, of this
faculty on the state of the body, which is more remarkable than
that of any other faculty whatever, (as appears from the
effects produced on it by old age, disease, and intcaocaAm,) is
iq»t to strike those who have not been much conversant with
these inquiries, as bestowing some plausibility on the theory
which attempts to explain its phenomena on mechanical prin*
ciples.

^0et$ of di9M96 and oU n^e on ifemory.*-! eannel help
taking this opportunity of expressing a wish, that medical
writers would be at more pains than they have been at hitherto,
to ascertain the various effects which are produced on the Mem-
ory by disease and old age. These effects are widely diversified
in different cases. In some, it would seem that the Memory is
impaired in consequence of a dimdnuiion of the power of attmh'
Hon ; in others, that the power of recollection is distuH>ed in
consequence of a derangement of that part of the oonstitutioa
on which the association of ideas depends. The decay of Mem*
ory, which is the common effect of age, seems to arise from die
former of these causes. It is jMobable^ that, as we advance in

mvosr. 2tt

fmn, Uie oapadlj of attenlicm 10 weakenecl by some physical
diaageinthe oonstitotioii ; but it is ako reaaeaable to thiiikythat
it bses its vigor partly from the efkd which the decay of our
Sttisibility and the extinction of our passions have, in dimin«
ishing the interest which we feel in the common occurrences of
life. That no derangement takes place, in ordinary eases, in
that part of the constitution on which the association of ideas
depends, appears from the distinct and circumstantial recoileo-
tion which old men retain of the transactions of their youth.*
In some diseases, this part of the constitution is evidently
afi^ted. A stroke of the palsy has been known, while it di4
Bot destroy the power of speech, to render the patient incapable
of reootteding the names of the most familiar objects. What is
still more remaikable, the name of an object has been known to
suggest the idea <^ it as formerly, although the mghi of the
object ceased to suggest the name. Something similar to this
last fact (it n^ay not be improper here to remark) occurs in im
kiferior degree, in the case of most old men, even when the^
do not labor under any specific disease. When the faouUy of
Memory begins to decline, the first symptom of its failure is, in
ordinary ca^es, a want pf recollection of wordi ; first, of propter
nemee and dahSj and afterwards, of toarde in ffeneroL The
transiticm from the sign to the thing signified seems, in every
ease, easier than from the thing signified to the sign ; and hence
it is, that many persons who are able to read a foreign langua^

* Swift aemewhera expresses bis snrprise, that old meD should femeaiA
ber their anecdotes so distinetlj, and should, Botwithstaading, haTO so
little memory as to tell the same stevj twice in the coone of the same coa*
versatioii ; and a similar lemaik is made hy Montaigne, in one of hi^
Sssajs.

The Ihct seeeu to be, that all their old ideas lemain in the mind, oon-
nected as ibrmerlj by the dtfieront associating principles ; bnt fiiat fiia
power of attention to new ideas and new oconnenees is impaired.

Instances of this aM so common, that there can be no dispute about Iha
iu!t. At the same time, I agree with Dr. Hartley in thinking, that old mea
do not alwajf§ recollect the events of their youth so distinetty as we miglil
at first conclude from their n vnttives ; and that it is father their mem narvm»
Ume that tbey rsmnaber, than the ereats to w4iidi they rehita

S66 MKMOBT.

with ease, are perfecdy unable to express Hietiiflehres in thai
language in convertatiim^ or even in writing. Of this fact, some
explanation may be given, without having recourse to anj
physiological consideration ; for we are accustomed to pass firtHn
the sign to the thing signified every time we read a book, or
listen to the conversation of another person ; whereas we pass
fiK>m the thing signified to the sign, only when we have occasion
to communicate our own ideas to others : And cases of this last
sort bear (it is evident) no proportion, in point of number, to
the former. With respect to our peculiar tendency to forget
proper namei^ when the memory begins to be impaired, the fact
■eems to be owing: 1. To the firmer hold which general wordt
take iji the mind, in consequence of their smaller number:
2* To the exercise which our recollection of general words is
constantly receiving in the course of our soUtarg speculadon ;
for (as was formerly shown) we can carry on general reasonings
by means of language only ; whereas, when we speculate con-
cerning individuals, we frequently fix our thoughts on the object
itself, without thinking of the name.*

* " Slight paralytic affections of the organs of speech sometimes occur
without any correspondent disorder in other parts of the hody. In such
cases, the tongue appears to the patient too large ibr his mouth, — the
saliva flows more copiously tiian usual, — and the ribratory power of the
glottis is somewhat impaired. Hence the effort to speak succeeds the vo-
lition of the mind slowly and imperfectiy, and -the words are uttered with
faltering and hesitation. These are facts of common notoriety ; but I have
never seen it remarked, that in this local palsy, tiie pronunciation of
psoPBii NAMES is attended with peculiar difficulty, and that the recollection
of them becomes either very obscure, or entirely obliterated ; whilst that of
persons, phices, things, and even of abstract ideas, remains undianged.
Such a partial defect of memory, of which experience has furnished me
with several examples, confirms the theory of association, and at the same
time admits of an easy solution by it For as words are arbitraiy marks,
and owe their connection with what they import to established usage, die
strength of this connection will be exactly proportioned to the frequency
of their recurrence ; and this recurrence must be much more frequent with
generic than witii specific terms. Now, proper names are of the latter
dass ; and the idea of a person or place may remain vivid in the mind,
with >nt the least signature of the appeUative which distinguishes each of

MBMOBT 267

I sliall onlj add farther on this head, that, as far as mj own
personal observations have extended, the forgetfulness of proper
names incident to old men, is chiefly observable in men of
science, or in those who are habitually occupied with important
affairs ; and this, I apprehend, is what might reasonably have
been expected a priori; partly from their habits of general
thought, and partly from their want of constant practice in that
trivial conversation which is every moment recalling particulars
to the mind.

In endeavoring thus to account, from the general laws of our
constitution, for same of the phenomena which are coipmonly
referred immediately to physical changes in the Iraiuj I would
not be understood to deny, that age often affects the memory
through the medium of the body. This, indeed, is one of those
melancholy truths to which every day's experience bears wit-
ness. It is beautifully and pathetically stated by Locke in the
following words : ^ The pictures drawn in our minds are laid in
fading colors, and, if not sometimes refreshed, vanish and dis«
appear. Thus the ideas, as well as children, of our youth, oflen
die before us ; and our minds represent to us those tombs to
which we are approaching ; where, though the brass and marblo
remain, yet the inscriptions are effaced by time, and the imager}
moulders away." *

them. It is certain, also, that we often think in words ; and there is prob-
ably, at such times, some slight impulse on the organs of speech, analogous
to what is perceived when a musical note or tune is called to mind. But a
lesion of the power of utterance maj hreak a link in the diain of associ-
ation, and thus add to the partial defect of memory now under consider
ation." — (Percttw/'« Works, Vol. II. p. 73.)

* In ordinary cases, I confess, I strongly suspect that the physical effects
of old age on this part of our constitution are not so great as is commonly
imagined ; and that much of what is generally imputed to advanced years,
may be fairly ascribed to a disuse of the faculty, occasioned by a premature
retreat from the business of the world. One thing is certain (as Cicero
has remarked) that those old men who have force of mind to keep up their
habits of activity to the last, are, in most cases, distinguished by a strength
of memory unusual at their years ; to which I may add, that this faculty
after a temporary decline, frequently recovers a great deal of its former vigor,

"I never yet heard of any old man/' says Cicero, in the character of

t68 xniosT.

f^ Atfay i{f Mttmnfiry mof fe cnmrted ^ fOiipcmd h^ our mon
^■k^-^In 80 ftr as this deoaj of Memory wkieh eld i^
brings along with it, is a necessary consequence of a physical
change in the constitntion, or a necessary consequence of a
diminution of sensibility, it is the part of a wise man to submit
cheerfully to the lot of his nature. But it is not unreasonable
to think, that something may be done by our own efforts, to
obviate the inconveniences which commonly result from it. II
individuals, who, in the early part of life, have weak memories,
are sometimes able to remedy this defect, by a greater attention
to arrangement in their transactions, and to classification among
their ideas, than is necessary to the bulk of mankind, might it
not be possible, in the same way, to ward off, at least to a
certain degree, the encroachments which time makes on this
fiiculty ? The few old men who continue in the active scenes
of life to the last moment, it has been often remarked, complain,
in general, much less of a want of recollection than their con-
temporaries. This is undoubtedly owing, partly, to the ef^ei
which the pursuits of business must necessarily have, in keep-
ing alive the power of attention. But it is probably owing also
to new habits of arrangement, which the mind gradually and
insensibly ferms, from the experience of its growing infirmities.
The apparent revival of Memory in old men, after a temporary
decline, which is a case that happens not unfrequently, seems to
&vor this supposition.

Cato, " whose memory was so weakened by time, as to fbi^t whore he had
concealed his treasure. The aged seem, indeed, to be at no loss in re
membering whatever is the principal object of t)ieir attention ; and few
there are at that period of life who cannot tell what recogpiizances thej
have entered into, or with whom they have had any pecuniary transac-
tions. Innumerable instances of a strong memory in advanced yean
might be produced from among our celebrated lawyers, pontiffs, augurs,
and philosophers ; for the faculties of the mind will preserve their powers
^n old age, unless they are suffered to lose their energy, and become languid
tor want of due cultivation."

— — " The mind and body equally thrive by a suitable exertion of theor
powers, with this difference, however, that bodily exercise ends in fiktigne^
whereas the mind is never wearied in its activity. When Csecilius tfaer»>

MEMOBT. 269

One old man, I have, mjself, had the good fortune to know,
who, after a long, an active, and an honorable life, having begun
to feel some of the usual effects of advanced jears, has been
able to find resources in his own sagacity, against most of the
inconveniences with which thej are commonlj attended ; and
who, by watching his gradual decline with the cool eye of an
indifferent observer, and employing his ingenuity to retard its
progress, has converted even the infirmities of age into a source
of philosophical amusement.

IL Of the varieties of Memory in different individuals. — It
is generally supposed, that, of all our faculties, Memory is that
which nature has bestowed in the most unequal degrees on dif-
ferent individuals ; and it is far from being impossible, that this
opinion may be well founded. If, however, we consider, that
there is scarcely any man who has not Memory sufficient to
learn the use of language, and to learn to recognize, at the first
glance, the appearances of an infinite number of familiar objects ;
besides acquiring such an acquaintance with the laws of nature,
and the ordinary course of human affairs, as is necessary for
directing his conduct in life ; we shall be satisfied that the origi-
nal disparities among men, in this respect, are by no means so
immense as they seem to be at first view ; and that much is to
be ascribed to different habits of attention, and to a difference

ton represents certain veterans as fit subjects for the Comic Muse, he al-
ludes only to those weak and credulous dotards, whose infirmities of mind
are not so much the natural effects of their years, as the consequence of
suffering their faculties to lie dormant and unexerted in a slothful and
spiritless inactivity." — Mdmoth's Translation of Cicero on Old Age.

Among the practices to which Cato had recourse for exercising his
memory, he mentions his observance of the Pythagorean rule, in recalling
every night, all that he had said, or done, or heard the preceding day : —
And, perhaps, few rules could be prescribed of greater efficacy for fixing
in the mind the various ideas which pass under its review, or for giving it
a ready and practical command of them. Indeed, this habit of frequently
reviewing the information we possess, either in our solitary meditatic ns, or
(which is still better) in our conversations with others, is the most effectual
of aU the helps to memory that can possibly be suggested. But these
remarks properiy belong to another branch of our subject

23*

170 icmoBT.

of ieleelk» wuHmg A0 Tttriont oljeelt and eyenis presenled to
Hkm cariosity*

It IS wortkj of remark, abo^ that those indiyidaak who poe-
aeas unusual powers of Meiaorj with respect to anj one dass of
objeets, are commonly as remarkably deficient in some of the
other applications of that fiMSuhy. I knew a person who, though
comj^telj ignorant of Latin, was able to repeat over thirty or
forty lines of Virgil, after haying heard them once read to
him, — not indeed with perfect exaolness, but with such a degree
of resemblance as (all drcomslances eonsidered) was tralj
astonishing ; yet this person (who was in the eonditioD of a
servant) was singularly deficient in Memory in aU oases m
which that faculty is of real practical utility. He was noted m
every family in which he had been employed for habits of for-
getfuhiess; and could scarcely deliver an ordinarj message
without committing some blunder.

A similar observation, I can almost venture to say, wiU be
found to «pply to by far the greater number of those in whom
this fiiculty seems to exhibit a preternatural or anomakms degree
of fbrce. The varteHet of memory are indeed wonderful ; but
they ought not to be confounded with %MqualMs$ of memory.
One man is distinguished by a power of recollecting names, and
dates, and genealogies ; a second, by the multiplicity of speenla-
tiona, and of general conclusions^ treasured up in his intellect;
a third, by the facility with which words and combinations of
words (the ipiimma verba of a speaker or of an author) seem
to lay hold of his mind \ a fourth, by the quickness with which
he seizes and appropriates the sense and meaning of mi s^uthor,
while the phraseology and style seem altogether to escape his
notice ; a fifth, by his Memory for poetry ; a sixth, by his Memory
for music ; a seventh, by his Memory for architecture, statuary,
and painting, and all the other objects of taste which are addressed
to the eye. All these different powers seem miraculous to those
who do not possess them ; and, as they are apt to be supposed,
by sqperficial observers, to be commonly united in the same
Individuals, they contribute much to encourage those exaggerated
estimates coneenung th^ original inequalities among; men in

miKORTi 171

respect to %hh fyievMj^ wVfik I a» now endeaTomg tux vcdiiM
lo Ihw jas( staBibjrd.

5f%tf ckaP€ieterM€9^ of a food Msmor^. -^ 4-9 tbe great purpose
to whicti thia facuhy ia sabaervieiity ia to enable us to collect, and
to retain, for the future regulation of our conduct, the redulta of
our pa$t experience ; it is eyident that the decree <^ perfection
which it attains in the case of different peiBons, must Tarjv
fetsl^ i^itb the feciUtj of making the original acquisition}
mcm^^ with the penasmence of the acquisition ; and iVMSi^
with the quickness or readiness with which the iadividufd k
able,, on particular occasionsy to apply it to use« The q^itiea
t]ii^ref€Kre» of i^ good Memoxy are> in the first place, to be «ii^
c^t&fe/ seeoadljy to be reteanHve; and thirdly, to be rei»4^

Jt ia b^t rarel J that ihe^e three qualities are united in the
same peraon. We of^en» indeed, meet with a Memory which is
at oao^smc^hl$ and rea^; bat I doubt much, if such memo*
riea be commonly very reti^ive^ For the same set el habits
whioh are fi^Torable to the two first qualities, tore f^Terae to the
third. Those individuals, for example, who, with a view to
oanyersation) make a eonatsmt buamesa of inlbrming themselyea
with respect to the pop^h^r topics of the day» or of tmrninp
Qver the ephemeral pubUcationa smbseryient to the amusement
<» to the politica of the timesi, ^re naturaUy led to enUiYate a
tusoepHHIMi^ and r§adines$ of memory,^ but have no inducement
to aim at that permaneni iPeUntiom of ideated idea9y which enables
the scientific student to combine the moat remote materials,, and
to coneentrate, at will, on a particular object, all the scattered
lights of his experience^ and of his reflections. Such men (as
far as my obaerration has reached) seldom possess a familiar or
correct, i^uauitance eyen with those classical remains of our
own earlier writers, which have oeaaed to furoish topics of dis^
course to the circles of fiishion. A stream of noyelties is peiv
petually passing through their minds i and the faint impressions
whioh it leayes, soon yanish to make way for others, -*-r like the
Iraces whieh the ebbing tide leayes npon the sand. Nor is tliis
iJl In proportion as the associating principles which lay the
lenndetion of ausc^ptibiUty and readiness predoinioate m the

S7S MBXOBT.

HemoTj, tbofle which form the basis of our more sdid and laflt*
ing acquisitions maj be expected to be weakened, as a natural
consequence of the general laws of our intellectual frame. ThiB
last obserVation it will be necessary to illustrate more partica-
larlj.

Various modes of assoeiatum in different minds. — I haye
already remarked, in treating of a different subject, that tbe
bulk of mankind, being but little accustomed to reflect and to
generalize, associate their ideas chiefly according to their mort
obvious relations; those, for example, of resemblance and of
analogy ; and above all, according to the casual relations arising
from contiguity in time and place ; whereas, in the mind of a
philosopher, ideas are commonly associated according to those
relations which are brought to light in consequence of particular
efforts of attention ; such as the relations of cause and effect^ or
of premises and eondusion. This difference in the modes of
association of these two classes of men, is the foundation ci
some very striking diversities between them in respect of intel-
lectual character.

Differences of Memory between philosophers and the vuigar. —
In the first place, in consequence of the nature of the relations
which connect ideas together in the mind of the philosopher, it
must necessarily happen, that when he has occasion to apply to
use his acquired knowledge, time and reflection will be requisite
to enable him to recollect it In the case of those, on the other
hand, who have not been accustomed to scientific pursuits, as
their ideas are connected together according to the most obyious
relations, when any one idea of a class is presented to the mind,
it is immediately followed by the others, which succeed each
other spontaneously, according to the laws of association. In
managing, therefore, the little details of some subaltern employ-
ment, in which all that is required is knowledge of forms, and
a disposition to observe them, the want of a systematical genius
is an important advantage ; because this want renders the mind
peculiarly susceptible of habits, and allows the train of its ideas
to accommodate itself perfectly to the daily and hourly oc-
currences of its situation. But if, in this respect, men of nt

M£MOBT. 278

general principles have an advantage over the philosopher, thej
fall greatlj below him in another point of view ; inasmuch as
all the information which thej possess, must necessarilj be
limited by their own proper experience ; whereas the philoso-
pher, who is accustomed to refer every thing to general princi-
ples, is not only enabled, by means of these, to arrange the facts
which experience has taught him, but by reasoning frOm his
principles synthetically, has it often in his power to determine
facts apriorij which he has no opportunity of ascertaining by
observation.

It follows further, from the foregoing principles, that the intel-
lectual defects of the philosopher, are of a much more corrigible
nature, than those of the mere man of detaiL If the former is
thrown by accident into a scene of business, more time will per-
haps be necessary to qualify him for it, than would be requisite
for the generality of mankind ; but time and experience will
infallibly, sooner or later, familiarize his mind completely with
his situation. A capacity for system and for philosophical
arrangement, unless it has been carefully cultivated in early life,
is an acquisition which can scarcely be made afterwards ; and,
therefore, the defects which I already mentioned, as connected
with early and constant habits of business, adopted from imita-
tion, and undirected by theory, may, when once these habits
are confirmed, be pronounced to be incurable.

How to retain knowledge permanenfly, — I am also inclined
to believe, both from a theoretical view of the subject, and from
my own observations, as far as they have reached, that if we
vvish to fix the particulars of our knowledge very permanently
in the Memory, the most efiectual way of doing it, is to refei
them to general principles. Ideas which are connected together
merely by casual relations, present themselves with readiness
to the mind, so long as we are forced by the habits of our
situation to apply them daily to use ; but when a change of cir-
cumstances lead us to vary the objects of our attention, we find
our old ideas gradually to escape from the recollection ; and if
it should happen that they escape from it altogether, the only
method of recovering them, is by renewing those studies by

•74

wbich th^ wete at firai aofiiiredk The oase fa rerj difibnat
with a man whose ideaa^ presented te him «l firsl by acddeat,
have been afterwards i>hilo60|>hicall7 arranged and refened to
general principles. When he wishes to recollect thei% s<Hne
time and reflectioQ wiU, frequently^ be aeeessarj to enable hna
to do 00 ; bat the iafonaatioB which he has once eon^letelj
acquired^ continues, in geoferaif to be an acquisition for life $ or
i^ accidentally^ any article of it should be kiety it may often be
recovered by a process of reasoning*

A language caught by the ear is generally spoken with mote
of the ease of a native than if it had been ieantod by rule ; but,
in the course of a few years^ it is often as compktdy obliterated
from the memory as if it had never beea acquired. It is only
by a c(Hnplete possession of the {mnciples of a language, that
we can hope to make it an acqiidsitiott for life* We may see
this daily illustrated, in the uncertaiti hold which girls conuscMily
retain of the Ikrenck acquired at boarding-sdiools, when oeei-
pared with the permanent acquaintance with LcOin which boys
receive from a regular classical educatioii. Few boys^ however
well edttcated, read and speak Laiin with the same ftciH^ and
fluency with which we daily see young ladies read and speak
I^eneh ; yet how seldom do they evw lose afWi^ards a com*
potent knowledge of the Latin tongue 1

A philosophical arrangeaient of our ideas is attended with
another veiy important advantage. In a mind wiieie the pre-
vailing princi{^es of association a^ founded on casual relatmis
among the various oljects of its knowledge, the thoi^hts must
necessarily succeed eaeh other in a very irregular and disorderiy
manner, and the occasions oto which they present tiiemselves
will be determined merely by accident. They willofWn occur
when they cannot be employed to any purpose, and will remain
concealed from oar view when the reodlection of them might
be useful. They cannot, therefore, be considered as under our
own proper c(»nmand. But in the case of a philosopher, how
flow soever he may be in the recollection of his ideas, he knows
always where he is to search for them, so as to bring them all
to bear on their proper ol^ect When he wishes to avafl i

Bdf of Mb p'iuBt ^iK^erience^ <Mr <^ his former eouc^ions, the
occasion itself Efummons up evety thought iti his miiid which tho
occasion requires. Or if he is ca^ed upon to exeil; his powers
of invention and of discovery, the materials Of both nsre alwajs
at hand, and are presented to his view with such a degree of
connection and arrangement as tftay enable him to trace with
ease thek varioiis relati<Mis. How mtidh invention depends upon
a patient wnd attentive examination of our ideas in order to dis-
cover the less obvious relations which subsist among them, I
had occasion to show at some length in a former diapteh*

Wkjf pkilosophen do nM ex&d in tanvdrsoHan, - — The :i:ematfa^
which bare been now made are sufficient to iHtistiate the ad-
vantages winch the philosopher derives in the pursuits of science
fnim tliat sort of systematical Memory which his halnts of ar*
rangement giv6 Mm. It may, however, be doubted whellier
fiueh habits be equally favorable to a talent for agreeable con-
vtrsal^h, at least for that lively, varied conversation, which
fortes the pnncipal charm of a promiscuous society. The con-
versation which pleases generally, must unite the reoommendai-
i^ons of quickness, of ease, and 6£ variety ; and in all these thre«
respects, Hiat of the philosopher is apt to be deficient. It is de-
ficient in quidmess, because his ideas are Connected by relatione
Which occu^ only to an attentive and collected mind. It is de-
fident in ease, because these relaticms are toot the casual and
obvious ones by which ideas are associated in ordinary memories,
but the slow discoveries of patient, and often painful, exertion.
As the ideas, too, which he associates together, are commonly of
Ih^e siune class, or at least are refetred to the same general prin-
ciples, he is in 4anger of becoming tedious, by indulging himself

* The practice which literary men in general have of committing to
writing the knowledge they acquire, together with the ready access which
all ranks have now to the nse of books, has a tendency to weaken the
SBcnky of memory, by superseding the necessity of its more extraordinary
exertions. It was on this principle that the Druids (as we are informed hy
CsBsar in his Commentaries), although they knew the Greek letters, ab-
stained from the use of writing in recording their theological and phik>*
iophicid doctrhies.

276 XEMOBT.

in long and systematical discourses ; while another, possessed <^
the most inferior aocomplishmehts, bj laying his mind complete] j
open to impressions from without, and by accommodating con-
tinually the course of his own ideas, not only to the ideas which
are stated by his companions, but to every trifling and un-
expected accident that may occur to give them a new direction,
is the life and soul of every society into which he enters. Kven
the anecdotes which the philosopher has collected, however
agreeable they may be in themselves, are seldom introduced by
him into conversation with that unstudied but happy* propriety
which we admire in men of the world, whose facts are not
referred to general principles, but are suggested to their recol-
lection by the familiar topics and occurrences of ordinary life. .
Nor is it the imputation of tediousness merely, to which the
systematical thinker must submit from common observers. It
is but rarely possible to explain completely, in a promiscuooa
society, all the various parts of the most simple theory ; and, as
nothing appears weaker or more absurd than a theory which is
partially stated, it frequently happens that men of ingenuity, by
attempting it, sink, in the vulgar apprehension, below the level
of ordinary understandings. ** Theoriarum vires,^ says Liord
Bacon, '' in apta et se mutuo sustinente partium harmonia et
quadam in orbem demonstratione consistunt, ideoque per partes
traditae infirmae sunt." [The excellence of theory lies in the
fitness and harmony of the parts mutually sustaining each other ;
so that a theory, enunciated piecemeal, is comparatively weak.3
Peculiarities of castud Memory. — Before leaving the subject
of easual Memory, it may not be improper to add, that how
much soever it may disqualify for systematical speculation,
there is a species of loose and rambling composition to which it
is peculiarly favorable. With such performances it is often
pleasant to unbend the mind in solitude, when we are more in
the humor for conversation than for connected thinking.
Montaigne is unquestionably at the head of this class of
authors. ** What, indeed, are his essays," to adopt his own ac-
count of them, ^ but grotesque pieces of patchwork, put together
without any certain figure, or any order, connection, or pro-
)>ortion, but what is accidental ? " (Liv. i. chap. 27.)

MBHOBT. S77

It is, however, eixrious, that m. consequence of the predbmi-
nance in bis mind <^ this species of MeiDoiory above ^verj o^er,
he is forced to acknowledge bis total want of that command
over his ideas which can onlj be founded 6n habits of system-
atical arrangement. As the passage is extremely character-
istical of the author, and affords a striking confirmation of some
of the preceding observations, I ahaM give it in his oWn words.
^ Je ne me tiens pas bien en ma possession 6t disposition : le
hazard j a plus de droit que moj : Foecasiony la compagnie, le
branle m6in6 d« ma voix tire plus de i^ri esprit, ifae je n'y
trouve lorsque je sonde et empldye h part moy. Ced m'advient
aussi, que je 00 me trouve pas oir je me cherche ; et me trouve
plus par rencontre, que pair Finquisition de mon jugerakent.''*

The differences which I have now pointed, out between phllo*'
sophical and casual Memory,* Constitute the most remarkable <ji
all the varieties which the minds df different individuals, con-
sidered in respect to this focuity, present to our observation.
But there are oth^ varieties of a less striking nature, the con-
sideration of which may also suggest some useAil reflections.

Sights remembered mare easify thiSai sauiuii. ^^It was before
remarked, that our ideas are frequaitly associiated in consequence
of the associations which take place among their aibitrary signs.
Indeed, in the case of all our general speculations, it is difficult
to see in what other way our thoughts can be associated ; for I
before endeavored to show, that, without the use of signs of one
kind or another, it would be impossible for us to make classes,
or genera, objects of our attention.

AH the signs by which our thoughts are expressed are ad*
dressed either to the eye or to the ear ;: and tise impressions

* (Montaigae'g langnage is so exquisitely idiomatib, that alitjeral version
gives hardly a glimpse of his meaning. The foUowing is a mere para-
phrase of the passage in the text.

'* I do not have full possession and command of mj own mind ; cfaanoa
has more power over it than I have; occasion, company, even the sound
of my own voice, draws moie out of my understanding than lean, when I
probe and try it in solitude. This also happens to me, that I cannot find
my ideas where I k>ok for them^ but rather stombie upon tfaemunawares."!'

24 ■

S78 KKMOBT.

made on these, organs at the time when we first receive an idea,
oontribate to give as a firmer hold of it. Visible objects (as I
obsenred in the chapter on conception) are remembered more
easily than those of any of our other senses ; and hence it is,
that the bulk of mankind are more aided in their reoollecti<m by
the impressions made on the eye than by those on the ear. £ very
person mast have remained, in studying the elements of geom-
etry, how much his recollection of the theorems was aided by
the diagrams which are connected with them; and I have little
doubt, that the difficulty which students commonly find to re-
member the propositions of the fifUi book of Euclid, arises
chiefly from this, that the magnitudes to whidi they relate, are
represented by straight lines, which do not make so strong an
impression on the memory, as the figures which illustrate the
propositions in the other five books.

This advantage, which the objects of nght naturally have
over those of hearing^ in the distinctness and the permanence of
the impressions whidi they make (« the Memory, continues,
and even increases, through life, in the case of the bulk of man-
kind ; because their minds, being but little addicted to general
and abstract disquisitions, are habitually occupied, either with
the immediate perception of such objects, or with speculations
VI which the conception of them is more or less involved ;
which speculations, so far as they relate to individual things
and individual events, may be carried on with littie or no assist-
anpe from language.

The case is difiefent with the philosopher, whose habits of
abstraction and genersdization lay him continually under a
necessity of employing words as an instrument of thought
Such habits, cooperating with that inattention which he is apt
to contract to things external, must have an obvious tendency
to weaken the original powers of recoUection and conception
with respect to visible objects; and at the same* time, to
strengthen the power of retaining propositions and reasonings
expressed in language. The common system of education, too^
by exercising the Memory so much in the acquisition of gram-
mar rules, and of passages from the ancient authors, contributes

KEMOBT. 279

greatly, in the case of men of letters, to cultivate a capad^
for retaining words.

How verbal Memory may he cukivated, — It is surprising ci
what a degree of culture our power of retaining a successioui
even of insignificant sounds, is susceptible. Instances some*
times occur, of men who are easily able to commit to Memory a
long poem, composed in a language of which they are wholly
ignorant; and I have myself known more than one instance of
an individual, who, after having forgotten completely the classical
studies of his childhood, was yet able to repeat with fluency
long passages from Homer and Virgil, without annexing an
idea to the words that he uttered.

This susceptibility of Memory with respect to words, is pos-
sessed by all men in a very remarkable degree in their early
years, and is, indeed, necessary to enable them to acquire the
use of language ; but unless it be carefully cultivated after-
wards by constant exercise, it gradually decays as we advance
to maturity. The plan of education which is foUowed in this
country, however imperfect in many respects, falls in happily
with this arrangement of nature, and stores the mind richly,
even in infancy, with intellectual treasures, which are to remain
with it througt life. The rules of grammar, which comprehend
systems, more or less perfect, of the principles of the dead
languages, take a permanent hold of the Memory, when the
understanding is yet unable to comprehend their import ; and
the classical remains of antiquity, which, at the time we acquire
them, do Httle more than furnish a gratification to the ear, sup-
ply us with inexhaustible sources of the most refined enjoyment ;
and, as our various powers gradually unfold themselves, are
poured forth, without effort, from the Memory, to delight the
imagination, and to improve the heart. It cannot be doubted
that a great variety of other articles of useful knowledge, par-
ticularly with respect to geographical and chronological details,
might be communicated with advantage to children in the form
of memorial lines. It is only ^in childhood that such details
can be learned with facility ; and if they were once acquired
and rendered perfectly familiar to the mind, our riper yean

fSO XBXOBT.

wovU be spared much of that painfol and amiifeTeBting labor,
which is perpetually distracting our intellectual powers from
those more important exertions for which, in their mature states
Ihej seem to be destined.

This teodeney of literary habits in general, and more par-
ticularly of philosophical pursuits, to exercise the thoughts
about words, can scarcely fail to have some effect in weakening
the powers of recollection and conception with respect to sensi-
ble objects ; and, in fact, I believe it will be found, that whatever
advantage the philosopher may possess over men of little eda-
eation, in stating general propositions and general reasonings,
he is commonly inferior to them in point of minuteness and
accuracy, when he attempts to describe any object which he has
seen, or any event which he has witnessed; supposing the
curiosity of both, in such cases, to be interested in an equal
degree. I acknowledge, indeed, that the undivided attention
which men unaccustomed to reflection are able to give to the
objects of their perceptions, is, in part, the cause of the liveli-
fiess and correctness of their conceptions.

Varieties of Memory in respect to technical or general descrip
Hon, — With this diversity in the intellectual habits of culti-
vated and of uncultivated minds, there is another variety of
Memory which seems to have some connection. In recognizing
^sible objects, the Memory of one man proceeds on the general
appearance ; that of another attaches itself to some minute and
distinguishing marks. A peasant knows the various kinds of
trees from their general habits ; a botanist, from those ^ charao>
feristical circumstances on which his classification proceeds.
The last kind of Memory is, I think, most common among
literary men, and arises from their habit of recoUecting by
means of Words. It is evidently much easier to express by
a description a number of botanical marks, than the general
habit of a tree ; and the same remark is applicable to other
cases of a similar nature. But to whatever cause we ascribe
it, there can be no doubt of the fact, that many individuals are
to be found, and chiefly among men of letters, who, although
they have no memiory for the general appearances of objects,

VEMORT. 261

me jet Me to retaon with oorreetness an inuaense nuiyiber of
■tedinieal discrimiimiioiis.

Eadb <^ these kinds of Memory has its peculiar adyaatag^
and inconveniences, which the dread of being tedious induces
me to leave to the investigation of mj readers.

Astonishing feals of Memory. — Among the extraordinaiy
exertions of Memory recorded in history, it is worthy of ob-
servation, that many of them (more especially oH those which
are handed down to us fhxoi and^it times) relate to acquisitions
of the most trifling nature ; or at least, to acquisitions which, in
tbe present age, would be understood to reflect but little credit
on the capacity of those who should c<msider the possession of
Itiem as a anbject of vanity* In judging, however, of such par*
Uculars, when they occur in the lives of eminent men, duib
allowances ought always to be made for the essential diflTerenoeA
between the pc^iiical institutions of the old worid and those of
modem Europe. Thus, when we are told of Themistocles, that
be could call by their names all the citizens of Athens (whose
number was 20,000) ; and of Cyrus, that he knew the name of
every soldier in his army, it ought to be recollected, that conv
temptible as these acquisitions might now appeal* in men equally
elevated by their rank, they were probably not altogether use*
less to the general <^ an ancient anny, or to the chidT of an
ancient republic The different state (^ manners prior to the
invention of printing, and, in particular, the state of manners in
ancient Greece and Rome, rendered the cultivation of Memory
an object of far greater importance to those who were destined
for public life, than it is under any of our modem governments ;
and, accordingly, extraordinary endowments of this sort form a
far more prominent feature in the characters of their illustrious
writers and statesmen than they do in modern biography.
[Examples of this must immediately crowd on the recollectioxi
oi every person at all conversant with the classics.

The facts with respect to Memory, which I have chiefly in
my eye at present, may be divided into two classes, according as
they relate to occasional exertions of Memory on particulav
•ul^ectB, or to the general mass of acquired information treaa^

24*

S88 MBXOBT.

ured up in the mind Of the first kind are the intellectual
feats ascribed to Cineas, and to Hortensius. The former (we
are told) when he came to Rome as ambassador from King
Pjrriius, saluted, on the day after his arriyal, all the senators
and persons of the equestrian order hj their names ; the latter,
after sitting a whole day at a public sale, gave an account from
Memory in the evening of all the things sold, with the prices and
the names of the purchasers; which account was found on
examination to agree in every particular with what had been
taken in writing by a notary. Nor will these anecdotes appear
incredible, when compared with what Muretus himself saw at
Padua, of a young Corsican, who, without stop or hesitation,
recited thirty-six thousand names in the same order in which
he had heard them, and afterwards, beginning at the last, pro-
ceeded, in a contrary order, to the first

To the same class of facts belong (although they indicate
also the strength of stiU higher Acuities) those eflbrts which
some individuals are able to make, by mere force of attention
and Memory, in the way of arithmetical computation. We are
told by the celebrated Dr. Wallis of Oxford, that ^ he himself
could, in the dark, perform arithmetical operations, as multipli-
cation, division, and extraction of roots, to forty decimal places ,
particularly, that, in February, 1671, he proposed to himself, by
night in bed, (at the request of a foreigner,) a number of fifty-
three places, and found its square root to twenty-seven places,
and that, without ever writing down the number^ he dictated the
result from memory twenty days afterwards." None of the
facts, with respect to memory, which I have met with in ancient
authors, conveys to me so high an idea of the wonders which
may be effected by a patient and steady concentration of our
mental powers.

Great Memories of philosophers, — These facts, however, which
relate to occasional exertions of Memory on particular subjects^ do
not lead to conclusions of so great practical utility, nor are they
perhaps, when duly weighed, so astonishing in themselves^ as
those which illustrate tlie comprehensiveness and reteniipeness of
which this fiiculty has leen sometimes found susceptible, with

i

MBMOBT. 288

respect to the general Hoek of human knowledge. A memorable^
or rather an extreme, case of this sort is said to have bccurred
in " that prodigy of parts, Mr. Pascal," of whom Mr. Locke
tells us, ^ it was repartedy that, till the decay of his health had
impaired his mind, he forgot nothing of what he had done, read,
or thought, in any part of his rational age." A statement to
which, (making every allowance for the usual exaggerations of
testimony,) I do not know that any thing exactly parallel can
be produced in the history of any other individual equally dis-
tinguished by idl the highest gifts of the understanding.

The learned Menage, whom Bayle calls the Yarro of the
seventeenth century, deserves also to be mentioned here, on a6-
count of the extraordinary strength and extent of his memory ;
but still more, on account of the singular degree in which he
appears to have recovered that faculty, after it had been greatly
impaired and almost destroyed by the infirmities of old age.
Few physiological facts, relating to the mind, are so well attested
as this. Menage having himself commemorated his own very
interesting history in Latin verses not inferior to any of his
juvenile productions; and, making due abatements for some
slight poetical licenses, the drcumstances which he records can-
not have differed widely from the truth.

Another instance of the same sort of memory, though in a
very inferior man, occurred in France, about a hundred years
ago, in the Abb^ de Longuerue, whose erudition (to borrow an
expression whidi D'Alembert applies to it) was not oolj pro-
digious, but terrible. His extraordinary powers displayed them-
selves even in his childhood, to such a degree, that Louis XIV.,
when passing through Charleville, stopped to see him as a curi-
osity. Greek and even Hebrew (we are told) were as &miliar
to him as his native tongue ; and on questions of literature,
Paris consulted him as an oracle. His mind was so well fur-
nished, not only with historical facts, but with the minutise of
chronology and topography, that, upon hearing a person remark
in conversation, that it would be a difficult task to write a good
historical description of France, he asserted that he could do it
from Memory, without consulting any books. All he asked i

to hare mm goo4 mapt qf jPhnicv Ud jbefii^ Uauu^ Thm
recalled to )upi ihte biBtorj pf eadi piM^yinc^ /of aQ t^ fiefr of
Ihe orown of eacb cit j, and even of a^di disiingiiiBhed oobleK
mac « seat in the kingdom. He wrote his folio Historj in a
year, which, ootwithstaqding 6om» very gross errorsi is allowed
to be correct, not onlj in its general outliineciy b^t in by &r th^
greater part of its trifling details*

^dueoUan to be conformed to the peeuHaritfee of Mmcry* —
With respect to this eztraordina^ persf^ni Miss Ed^worth
quotes from the Harquis d'Argensoo m jiwecdote, of whichsome
use raaj, I tfunk, be made by tli^osa who are ^mployje4 in the
aducatiom of children. Whep the S^ixqiiis asked him hfsf^ h(9
managed tp arrange af»d retain in his benid eyery thing ^kst
entered it, he aiisveii^ by observi^ in ge^e^ terays, f^That
the elements of erery sc^enoe nuist be leanied "wV^ we arf9
yery young ; not only the first principles qf w^ iqar^g^fogo^ but
iheA,B,0,ofeii€ry UndoflmowMge. This,'' he adds, "^ if
not difficult in youth, especially as it js i^ot necessary tp pener
trate far. Simple notions are sufficient; nrhen these are pim
acquired, ayezy thing we read afterwards finds its proper pl^tee.^

This remark appearato me to be equally just mid important;
and I am disposed to lay the gneatier stress pppp it, as, m tbd
person to whom it is ascribed, it must be eonsideDed meirely as

a This drcunstanoe deseires attentibn, as it shows what reliance he
fdsced on visiUs o6;eoCf and IdcoI iisiocicrtiang, as adminiclM to his powen of
recollection. Be ay^il^ed himself, in Isc^, of ^e fsaxf^ general pxindpla
which suggested tfa^ topical Memory of the ancifdnt xhetorici^ ; and of
which the efficacy is abundantly confirmed by oar own daily experience.
Whoever has paid any attention to the education of young persons, must
. be satisfied that the only efilbctual expedient for fixing historical knowledge
in their minds, is to unite the studies of histoty and of geography together,
by accnstomiug them to refer every occiMrenoe to the spo^ whoe it txwk
place, and to follow ^nrith the eye, upon an accurate map, every t^aoge of
scene in the narrative. The greater part of artificial devices, which have
been thought of for the same purpose, are mere trick and quackery. They
may, perhaps, be occasionally subservient to an ostentatious display, but,
tfn the whole, they can scaroely &U to do more ham than good to tiM
faderstanding-

MSMOBt. 285

an experimental resuk drawn from the history of his own mind,
and not as an inference from any theoretical principles concern-
ing the nature and laws of Memory. It contains, I suspect^ a
great secret of that species of education which is commonly
given to people of Tcry high rank ; to. whom a power of plausi-
ble and imposing discourse is too frequently conceived to be an
object of greater value than the possession of just and enlight-
ened opinions. In the education, however, of all without ex-
ception, it is susceptible, under proper management, of the most
important practical application, not only in facilitating the
fiiture -acquisition of amamerUal knowledge, but in laying an
early foundation for that most valuable sort of Memory which
spontaneously and insensibly dasstfies, (or, as the Abb^ de
Longnerue expressed it, puts in its proper place,) every particu-
lar ^u^ at the moment when it is first presented to the mind.
This plan, indeed, seems manifestly to be pointed out to ns by
nature herself, inasmuch as she has rendered the impressions of
early youth incomparably more permanent than those of our
more advanced years ; and by doing so, has furnished the means
to a skilful instructor, of extending the advantage of that
precious season over the whole of life. •

Memory as a measure of intdUetwd capacity in yeneral ^^
From these details, (and it would be very easy to add to their
number,) it sufficiently appears, that extraordinary powers of
Memory do not always indicate a corresponding measure of in^
UiUectudl capacity in yeneral At the same time, I can by no
means subscribe to the prevailing opinion, that extraordinary
powers of Memory are incompatible either with judgment or
with genius. On the contrary, I can scarcely recollect (as I
have elsewhere observed) any one person very eminently dis-
tinguished by the latter qualities, who has not also possessed a
more than common share of the former. And, indeed, if we
only consider for a moment how intimately this faculty is con-
nected with every species of mental improvement, it must ap-
pear perfectly manifest, that, however numerous the instances
may be in which great powers of Memory are united with a
deficiency in other intellectual endowments, it is nevertheless an

'nnfoeiliffiiabk troth, duii » yigofQiif tod rcliiitiT^ Memofy
maj be fiurlj nmked wmuig the most importaal of the qqaHties
which eptpr into the composition either of an inyentive gemne,
or of a comprehensive understanding. In the case^ tog^ of
some indiTiduals of the most powerful and splendid talents, the
same preternatural strength of Memocj has been exemplified,
which, in most instances, is. considered, and, perhaps, not al-
together without reasoQ, 9^ symptomatical of a weak and sapei^-
£cial judgment Of this I have alreadj produced spme se-
markable proofs in the course of the fore^ing observatiims.

Whff J&mory itnai^o mw^h cMvaied among ih$ mocfemf. -^
It is j^stl7 ol^erved by liiss Edgew^rtii, that such {midigies ai
Jtfemoi7 are not now to be looked far, 99 W6 have reaeon to
believe yreT^ not ancommon in £urppe f^ ^^^17 few eentories
ago. ^ The <irt pf printiqg, by multipljing q«i|>ieB of books, so
as to put them within the reach of all classes rf the peopH has
lowered the value of those extraoiidinfuy powers which some of
the learped were ^en accustomed to display with so much oaten-
tatioi^. At the revival of literature in {^^so!pe, a man who had
read a few ma^useript^y And could repeat them, was nc^ merely
a wonder J but a treasure; he could tmvel from place to place,
and live by his learning.; and had &r more enccmrag^n^it to
engrave the words of others oa bis memoiy, iban to ezercjse his
fKwn powers of jud^ppent and invention/' In later fiiaea the
case is greatly altered* A reference in a eommonplaoe-book
to a particular page, relieves the Memory entirely of its buiden;
a good index supersedes the labor of years; or (as Fopa has
yeiy happily expressed the same idea,)

** Though index-learning tarns no student pale.
It holds the eel of science by the tail/'

Originai diferfnces ammff fn^ t» rpq>ect to Ifimpa^ -r.Ttie
facts which have been already mentiQ^ed sufficiently accost ^
the common opinion, that the original difif^renc^ funong men
in their capacities of Memory, are incomparably greats than ia
the case of ai;iy other faculty. Nay, I must cpnfess, they seem
to show that this opinion is not altogether without foundation.

MBMOwr. S87

At the same time, I am fully satiBfied that these differenees are
greatly overrated. Even in those cases where Memory seems
to be the weakest and most incapable of culture, there is com-
monly sufficient capacity to enable the individual to acquire a
competent knowledge of his mother-tongue, and to learn to
recognize, at the first glance, an immense multitude of particular
objects belonging to all the different departments of nature ;
beside that general acquaintance with the laws of the material
world, and the properties c^ material substances, which is
necessaiy for the preservation of our animal existence ; and thai
no less indispensable acquaintance with many maxims of com*
mon sense, relative to life and conduct, without a knowledge
of which a man approaches to the condition of an idiot or
changeling. If we were to analyse carefully this stock of infoF*
mution, it would be found to comprehend a far greater number
of particulars than we might be disposed at first to suspect

I shall avail myself of the title which I have prefixed to this
section, to introduce here a few detached passages from different
nuthors, which appear to me worthy of the attention of those
who take an interest in the study of the mind. Some of them
ure firom books not likely to excite the curiosity of the generality
of readers ; and all of them may be more or less useful in illus-
trating the foregoing conclusions. With these extracts I shall
intersperse slight comments of my own.

Phila$aph%eal mtnda incapable of aUending to iriJHng deiaih.
— I begin with a passage from Leibnitz, one of the few philos-
ophers who have favored the world with any reflections on the
peculiarities of his own intellectual character. [^Invention or
ingenuity, like Memory, is of two kinds ; the one prompt, being
a quality of genius, the other sure, depending on good judg^
ment Eloquent persons possess the former, men who are slow
in forming their conclusions, but yet are not ill-adapted for
business, have the latter. Others form a remarkable variety,
«s in certain times and places, they are wonderfully prompt, and
on other occasions, extremely slow. Among these last I rank
myself, and also perceive that there «re few who have the i

188 imioftT.

peeuliaritjy that att eat^ Mngt are diffeuM to me, amd on Ab
aUmr handy ail diffievM things are eaey.'*']

Upon this verj remarkable expression with respect to himself,
it were to be wished that Leibnits had enlarged a little more
fiiUj. The onlj interpretation I can pnt upon it is, that he felt
a certain degree of diffievky necessary td rouse his intellectnal
ftculties to action ; and that, in consequence of this drcumstanoe,
(combined probably with a consciousness of his own powers,)
he was inferior to the common run of mankind in some of those
easy acquisitions which are within the reach of alL The case,
I apprehend, is not a singular one ; as we often meet with men
of the most splendid talents, who are deficient, to a ludicrous
degree, in some of the most simple and mechanical branches of
school education. I shall only mention, as examples, the art of
penmanship, and the still more important one, of arithmetical
computation ; in both of which, (though from different causes,)
the progress of the student is retarded rather than aided by an
extraordinary degree of quickness and of intellectual capacity ;
and in which, accordingly, men of genius may be expected to
fidl below the general standard, unless in those cases where they
have had the good fortune to be carefully trained to the practice
of them in their childhood, or very early youth. All such
acquisitions (it may be here observed by the way,) should, on
this account, be rendered by habit a second nature, before the
powers of reason and reflection have attained such a degree of
. strength as to render the task of the learner irksome to hinr-
self, by presenting more interesting objects to his curiosity.
The art of reading, in particular, may be taught to in&nts by
any person of common sense, by a process almost as insensible
as the use of speech.

The foregoing quotation from Leibnitz brings to my recolleo-
tion a fragment of Montesquieu, which affords a memorable
proof of the difficulty which men of superior minds frequently
experience in acquiring a ready and practical knowledge of
those trifling and uninteresting details, which are treasured up
without any effort by those to whose understandings they are

MBMOBT. 289

more oongeniaL ^ With respect to my employment as president^
[a judicial title in France,] I have an upright heart — I com-
prehend with ease the nature of the business ; but of the forms
of the court I understand nothing, though I took pains to ac-
quire that knowledge ; and what dispirits me most at it is, that
I observe in some blockheads the very talent I seem unable to
attain." ^

I should, perhaps, have taken an earlier opportunity of re-
marking, that in contrasting, as I have occasionally done in this
section, the species of Memory possessed by philosophers with
that possessed by the vulgar and illiterate, I evidently have in
view those effects only which their respective pursuits heme a
tendency to produce on the intellectual character. Many ex-
ceptions to our general conclusions may be expected in particu-
lar instances ; nor does there seem to be any impossibility in
the nature of things to unite, by a proper education, the advan-
tages of ho^ kinds of Memory. That incapacity, for example,
of attending to trifling details, of which Montesquieu complains
In the above quotation, and which is one great source of what
is generally called a had Memory^ is undoubtedly a most serious
inconvenience to all who have to mingle in the business of the
world; and although it is justly overlooked in those whose
talents and acquirements raise them much above the common
level, yet it can scarcely be guarded against enough by all
those who have any concern in the education of youth. To
enable a person to command his attention, at all times, to what- .
ever object is before him, whether trifling or important, so that
''whatsoever his hand findeth to do, he may do it with all his
might," is one of the most important habits that can be commu-
nicated to his mind. And it would form a most valuable article
in a systematical treatise on education, to point out the means
by which this habit may be cultivated, or the contrary habits of
inattention corrected where, they have unfortunately been con-
tracted*

The following judicious remark of Mr. Knox, (in his Treatise
on Education,) while it throws some additional light on these
vartetiei of Memory which have been now under our consider*
25

MO KBMORT*

lltioii» suggests a pracdcal lesson which oanoot be too steadify
kept in view bj all who devote themselves to the stadj c^ liter-
ature and of the sciences. In point c^ value, it seems to me to
rise considerablj above the ordinary level of this aathor^s phi-
losophy.

^ Some persons seem to think that a good Memcny oonsists
in retaining dates and minnte particulars, but I believe, that,
though a reader remember but few dates and few minute pardc-
ulars, he may yet retain all the necessary general %de€u an4
vabmHe eandutiani. He wiltsee a wide and beautiful arrange-
ment of important objects, while another, who stoops to pick up
and preserve every trifle, will have his eyes fixed on the ground.
It is not enough that the mind can reproduce just what it has
received from reading, and no more; it must reproduce it
diff€iiedf altered, improved, qnd refined. Reading, like food,
must show its efiects in prompting growth; according to a
Striking remark of Epictetus, the application of which is suffi-
elently obvious without any comment; 'Sheep do not show
the shepherd how much they have eaten by producing the grase
iteeff; but by producing outwardly wool and milk after their
pasture is inwardly digested.' "

m. Of the in^[mn>emeni of Memory.'T- AnaXyeie of the prin^
cipUe on which ike culture of Memory depends. — The improver
ment of which the mind is susceptible by culture, is more
remarkable, perhaps, in the case of Memory, than in that of
any other of our Acuities. The fact has been often taken notice
of in g^ieral terms ; but I am doubtful if the particular mode
in which culture operates on this part of our constitution, has
been yet examined by philosophers with the attention which it
deserves.

Of one sort of culture, indeed, of which Memory is suscepti-
ble in a very striking degree, no explanation can be given ; I
mean the improvement which the original faculty acquires by
mere exercise ; or, in other words, the tendency which practice
has to increase our natural facility of association. This effect
of practice upon the Memory, seems to be an ultimate law of
mu nature ; pr rather, to be a particular instance of that general

law, that all por powers, ]botl| of body and mind, laaj hs
strengthened, ^j applying them to their proper purposes.

Besides, however, the improvement which Memory admits
of, in consequence of the effects of exercise on the origin^
faculty, it may be greatly aided in its operations, by those ex-
pedients which reason and experience suggest for employing it
to the best advantage* These expedients furnish a curious sub-
ject of philosophical examination; perhaps, too, the inquiry
may not be altogether without use ; for, although our principal re-
sources for assisting the Memory be suggested by nature, yet it is
reasonable to think, that in this, as in similar cases, by following
out systematically the hints which she suggests to us, a further
preparation may be made for our intellectual improvement

Ifaw Men^qry becomes more suscq^tiUe and retentive. — !pvery
person must have remarked, in entering upon any new species
of study, the difficulty of treasuring up in the Memory its ele-
mentary principles ; and the growing facility which he acquires
in this respect, as his knowledge becomes more extensive. By
analyziiig the different causes which concur in producing this
facility, we may, perhaps, be led to some conclusions which may
admit of a practical application.

1. Jn every science, the ideas about which it is peculiarly
ponversant, are connected together by some particular associat-
ing principle; in one science, for example, by associations
founded on the relation of cause and effect; in another, by
associations founded on the necessary relations of mathematics^
truths ; in a third, on associations founded on contiguity in place
or time. Hence one cause of the gradual improvement of Memory
with respect to the familiar objects of our knowledge ; for what-
ever be the prevailing associating principle among the ideas
about which we are habitually occupied, it must necessarily
acquire additional strength from our fcworite study^

2. In proportion as a science becomes more familiar to u^
we acquire a greater comn^and of attention with respect to tl^e
objects about which it is conversant ; for the information whiclt
w.e already possess, gives us an interest in Qwerj new truth an^
eyezy new fact which have any relation to it In most cases.

t9S lOBXOBT.

fmxr habits of inattention may be traced to a want of cnrioBitj;
' and therefore sach habits are to be corrected, not hj endeavor-
I ing to force the attention in particular instances, but by gradually
I learning to place the ideas which we wish to remember, in an
\ interesting point of view.

8. When we first enter on any new literary pursuit, we aie
unable to make a proper discrimination in point of utility and
importance, among the ideas which are presented to us ; and by
attempting to grasp at every thing, we fiiil in making those
moderate acquisitions which are suited to the limited powers of
the human mind. As our information extends, our selection
becomes more judicious and more confined ; and our knowledge
of useful and connected truths advances rapidly, from our eeat-
ing to dtstraei the attention with such as are detached and
insignificant

4. Every object of our knowledge is related to a variety of
others ; and may be presented to the thoughts, sometimes by one
principle of association, and sometimes by another. In propor-
tion, therefore, to the multiplication of mutual relations among
our ideas, (which is the natural result of growing information,
and in particular, of habits of philosophical study,) the greater
will be the number of occasions on which they will recur to the
recollection, and the firmer will be the root which each ide% in
particular, will take in the Memory.

It follows, too, from this observation, that the facility of re-
taining a new fact, or a new idea, will depend on the number of
relations which it hears to the former objects of our knowledge ;
and, on the other hand, that every such acquisition, so far from
loading the Memory, gives us a firmer hold of all that part of
our previous information, with which it is in any degree con-
nected.

It may not, perhaps, be improper to take this opportunity of
observing, although the remark be not immediately connected
with our present subject, that the accession made to the stock
of our knowledge, by the new facts and ideas which we acquire^
is not to be estimated merely by the number of these &cts and
ideas considered individually ; but by the number of relatiaiia

whkk Htff beiur i» one fmotber, an4 to all the different pjr^c«t
Iu9 wbicb were preyiooslj iz^ the mind ; for ^ new jkqowledge,"
«0 Mr. Madauzin hsui well rem^ked, ^< does not oonskt bo much
in our baying access t/o a new object^ as in comparing it with
others ah^eadj known, observing its relations to them, or dis-
cerning what it has in common with them, and wherein their
disparity consists; and, therefore, our knowledge is vastly
greater than the sum of what all ijts objects separately could
afford; and when a new obj^ect comes within our reach, the
addition to our knawledge is ftxe gr^ater^ the n^pre we already
Imow ; so that it increaaes, i^>t as ^e new objects increase, but
in a mudi faigheir proportion."

The above passa^ may Sierye to illi^strate ^n ingenious an4
pn^ound remark of Dndos, i9 his OpnsideraHom sur hs Mceurn^
^ If education was judiciously conducted, the mind wojald acquire
a great stock of truths witii greater ease than it acquires a small y
number of errors. Tiruths have among themselves a relatioi)
and connection, certain points of contact, which are equally /
&Torable to the powers of apprehension and of Memory ; while, 1^
on the other hand, errors are commonly so 9iany insulated prop- \
adtions, of whidi, though it be difficult to shake off the au- ^
thority, it is easy to prevent the original acquisition."

5. In the last place, the natural powers of Memory are, in the
ease <^ the philosopher, greatly aided by his peculiar habits of
ekusification and arr<mgwmU. As this is by far the nu)st im-
portant intpiovement jc^ which Memory is suscepjtible, I shall
consider it more particularly than any of thjs others I hav^
mentioned.

How MarMry %$ aided iy ike clamficqiiofn of ideas. — The
advantages which the Memory derives from a proper classifica-
tion of our ideas, may be best conceived by attending to its
effects in enabling us to conduct with ease the common business
of life. In what inextricable confusion would the lawyer or the
merdiant be immediately involved, if he were to deposit, in his
cabinet, promiscuously, the various written documents which
daily and hourly pass through his hands ? Nor ppuld this con?
fiuiou be prevented by the natural powers of Mepipiyi hpwevqr

25*

994 nMOBT.

Tigorons tliey might happen to be. Bj a prop» distributiMi
of these documents, and a jndicions reference of them to a few
general titles, a veiy ordinary Memory is enabled to accomplish
more, than the most retentive, unassisted by method. We
know, with certainty, where to find any article we may have
occasion for, if it be in our possession ; and the search is con-
fined within reasonable limits, instead of being allowed to
wander at random amidst a chaos of particulars.

Or, to take an instance still more immediately applicable to
our purpose ; suppose that a man of letters were to record, in a
commonplace-book, without any method, all the Tarious ideas
and &cts which occurred to him in the course of his studies ;
what difficulties would he perpetually ezpe'rience in applying
his acquisitions to use ? and how completely and easOy migbt
these difficulties be obviated by referring the particulars of his
Information to certain general heads ? It is obvious, too, that,
by doing so, he would not only have his knowledge much more
completely under his conmiand, but as the particulars classed
ogether would all have some connection, more or less, with eadi
other, he would be enabled to trace, with advantage, those
mutual relations among his ideas, which it is the object of
philosophy to ascertain.

A conmionplace-book, conducted without any method, is an
exact picture of the Memory of a man whose inquiries are not
directed by phOosophy. And the advantages of order in treas-
uring up our ideas in the mind, are perfectly analogous to its
effects when they are recorded in writing.

Nor is this aU. In order to retain our knowledge distinctly
and permanently, it is necessary that we should frequently re-
* call it to our recollection. But how can this be done without
the aid of arrangement? Or supposing that it were possible,
how much time and labor would be necessary for bringing under
our review the various particulars of which our informatitm is
composed? In proportion as it is properly systematized, this
time and labor are abridged. The mind dwells habitually, not
on detached facts, but on a comparatively small number of gen-
eral principles ; and, by means of these, it can summon 'ip^ as

mMOBT. 299

occasions maj reqmre, an infinite number of partieaUin associ'
ated with them ; each of which, considered as a solitary truth,
would have been as burdensome to the Memory, as the general
principle with which it is connected.*

CfhtsnficaUnn alone does not eonetitute philosophy. — I would
not wish it to be understood from these obseryations, that philoso-
phy consists in classification alone ; and that its only use is to
assist the Memory. I have often, indeed, heard this asserted
in general terms ; but it rather appears to me to be obvious,
that^ although this be one of its most important uses, yet some-
thing more is necessary to complete the definition of it Were
the case otherwise, it would follow, that all classifications are
equally philosophical, provided they are equally comprehensive.
The very great importance of this subject will, I hope, be a
sufficient apology for me, in taking this opportunity to correct
Bome mistaken opinions which have been formed concerning it.

IV. Aid which the Msmory derives from philosophical ar-
rangemeni. — It was before observed, that the great use of the
faculty of Memory, is to enable us to treasure up, for the
future regulation of our conduct^ the results of our past experi-
ence, and of our past reflections. But in every case in which
we judge of the future from the past, we must proceed on the
belief, that there is, in the course of events, a certain degree, at
least, of uniformity. And, accordingly, this belief is not only
justified by experience, but (as Dr. Reid has shown, in a very
satisfactory manner,) it forms a part of the original constitution
of the human mind. In the general laws of the material world,
this uniformity is found to be complete ; insomuch that, in the

* It is yeiy jnstlj and ingenionslj remarked bj Dr. Priestlej, that " the
more we know of anj branch of science, the less is the compass into which
we are able to bring its principles, provided the facts from which thej are
inferred be nnmerons." The reason is, that, " in an advanced state of
knowledge, we are able to rednce more of the particular into general obser-
vations ; whereas, in the infancy of a science, eveiy obsenration is an
independent fact ; and, in delivering the principles of it, thej most all be
distinctly mentioned ; so that, though a adection may be made, a proper
abridgment is impossible."

WH niiOBT.

I fomWnfttiOTw of dramuilaiioMy we exfeet, widi Ae mast
perfect aMaraQoe, that the Beme resalts will take place* In the
moral world, the coarse of events does not ai^)ear to be equally
regular ; but still it is regular to so great a degree, as to afford
us many rules of importance in the conduct of life.

A knowledge of nature, in so far as it is absolotelj necessiuy
for the presenraUoB of our animal existence, is obtruded on us,
without any reflection on our part, from our earliest infani^. It
is thus that children leam of themselves to accommodate their
conduct to the established laws of the material world. In doing
so, they are guided merely by Memory, and the instinctive
priaciple of anticipation which has just been mentioned.

In forming oonchisions concerning future events, the philoso^
pher, as weU as the infant, can only build with safety on past
experience ; and he, too, as well as the infant, proceeds on an in*
Btinctive belief, for which he is unable to account, of the md-
fbnnity of the laws of nature. There are, however, two Im-
partant rupe^y which distinguish the knowledge be possesses
from that of ordinary men. In HtkQ first place, it is far vMr$
€Xtennvef in consequence of the assistance which science gives
to his natural powers of invention and discovery. JSeeondfyy it
is not only more easily retained in the Memory, and more con-
yeniently applied to use, in consequence of the manner m
which his ideas are arranged ; but it enables him to ascertain^
2jf a process of reasoning, aU those truths which may he syntk^-!^
caUy deduced from his general principles. The illustration of
these particulars will lead to some useful remarks ; and will at
the same time show, that, in discussing the subject of this sec-
tion, I have not lost sight of the inquiry which occasioned it.
• Ifow philosophy aids our powers ofinvevUion and discovery. —
L (1.) It was abeady remarked, that the natural powers of Mem-
ory, together with that instinctive anticipation of the future
from the past, which forms one of the original principles of the
mind, are sufficient to enable infants, after a very short experi-
ence, to preserve their animal existence. The laws of nature,
which it is not so important for us to know, and which are the
objects of philosophical curiosity, are not so obviously exposed

HEMOBir. 297

to (mf yiew, but are, in general, brought to light by means of
experiments which are ma<ie for the purpose of discovery ; or,
in other words, by arttfidal combinations of circumstances,
Which we have no opportunity of seeing conjoined in the course
of our ordinary experience. In this manner, it is evident, that
many connections may be ascertained, which would never have
occurred spontaneously to our observation.

(2.) There a^, too, some instances, particularly in the case
of the astronomical phenomena, in which events, that appear to
common observers to be altogether anomalous, are found, upon
a more accurate and continued examination of them, to be sub-
jected to a regular law. Such are those phenomena in the
heavens, which we are able to predict by means of cycles. In
1^ cases formerly described, our knowledge of nature Is ex«
tended by placing her in new situations. In these cases, it is
extended by continuing our observations beyond the limits of
ordinary curiosity.

(3.) In the case of human affairs, as long as we confine our
aittention to particulars, we do not observe the same uniformity,
SB ha the phenomena of the material world. When, however,
we extend our views to events which depend on a combination
of different circumstances, such a degree of uniformity appears,
As enables us to establish general rules, from which probable
Conjectures may <rften be formed with respect to futurity. It is
Hius, that we can pronounce, with much greater confidence,
concerning the proportion of deaths which shall happen in a
certain period among a given number of men, than we can pre-
dict the death of any individual ; and that it is more reasonable
fo employ our sagiefccity, in speculating concerning the probable
determinations of a numerous society, than concerning events
which depend on the will of a single person.

In what manner this uniformity in events depending on con-
tingent circumstances is produced, I shall not inquire at present
The advantages which we derive from it are obvious, as it
enables us to collect, from our past experience, many general
rales, both with respect to the history of political societies, and
the ohittueters uld conduct of men in private lifo.

S&6 XSMOBT*

(4) In the last place, the knowledge of the philosopher if
more extensiye than that of other men, in oonsequence of the
attention which he gives, not merely to objects and events, but
to the rekUumi which different objects and different events bear
to each other.

The observations and the experience of the vulgar are almost
whollj limited to things perceived bj the senses. A similaritjr
between different objects, or between different events, rouses
their curiosity, and leads them to classification and to general
rules. But a similarily between different rekUions is seldom to
be traced without previous habits of philosophical inquizy.
Many such similarities or connections, however, are to be found
in nature ; and when once they are ascertained, they frequently
lead to important discoveries ; not only with respect to other
relations, but with respect to the objects or to the events which
are related. These remarks it will be necessary to illustrate
more particularly*

Aid derived from a Hudif of the rdadone of things, -r- The
great object of geometry is to ascertain the relations which
exist between difierent quantities, and the connections which
exist between different relations. When we demonstrate, that
the angle at the centre of a circle is double of the angle at the
drcumferenoe on the same base, we ascertain a relation between
two quantities. When we demonstrate, that triangles of the
same altitude are to each other as their bases, we ascertain a
connection between two relations. It is obvious, how much the
mathematical sciences must contribute to enlarge our knowledge
of the universe, in consequence of such discoveries. In that
simplest of all processes of practical geometry, which teaches
us to measure the height of an acces»ble tower, by comparing
the length of its shadow with that of a staff fixed vertically in
the ground, we proceed on the principle, that the relation
between the shadow of the staff and the height of the staff is
the same with the relation between the shadow of the tower
and the height of the tower. But the former relation we can
ascertain by actual measurement ; and, of consequence, we not
only obtain the other relation, but, as we can measure one of

XEMOBT. %99

the related qaandtiesy we obtain also the other quantity. In
every case in which mathematics assists us in measuring the
magnitudes or the distances of objects, it proceeds on the same
principle ; that is, it begins with ascertaining connections among
different relations, and thus enables us to carry our inquiries
from &cts which are exposed to the examination of our senses,
to the most remote parts of the universe.

I observed, also, that there are various relations existing
among physical events, and various connections existing among
these relations. It is owing to this circumstance, that mathe-
matics is so useful an instrument in the hands of the physical
inquirer. In that beautiful theorem of Huygens, which demon-
strates, that the time of a complete oscillation of a pendulum in
the cycloid, is to the time in which a body would fall through
die axis of the cycloid, as the circumference of a circle is to its
diameter, we are made acquainted with a very curious and
unexpected connection between two relations ; and the knowl-
edge of this connection facilitates the determination of a most
important fact, with respect to the descent of heavy bodies near
the earth's surface, which could not be ascertained conveniently
by a direct experiment

In examining with attention the relations among different
physical events, and the connections among different relations,
we sometimes are led by mere induction to the discovery of a
general law, while, to ordinary observers, nothing appears but
irregularity. From the writiogs of the earlier opticians we
learn, that, in examining the first principles of dioptrics, they
were led, by the analogy of the law of reflection, to search for
tiie relation between the angles of incidence and refraction, (in
the case of light passing from one medium into another,) in the
angles themselves ; and that some of them, finding this inquuy
unsuccessful, took the trouble to determine, by experiments, (in
the case of the media which most frequently faU under con-
sideration,) the angle of refraction corresponding to every
minute of incidence. Some very laborious tables, deduced frt>m
•uch experiments, are to be found in the works of Eircher. At
length, SnelHus discovered what is now called the lawof refrao*

900^ imcoKT.

Iloi^-whicb oomprebendB tlieir whole oonteiitfl in a ab^^ sen-
tence : [the sine of the angle of incidence bean a ooofltant ratit
to the sine of the angle of refraction, for each refiraeting me*

The law of the j^anetaiy motionsy deduced hj Kepler, from
the obeerrations of Tjcho Brabe^is another striking illttstmiioa
of the order, which an attentive inquirer is sometimes able to
traee, among the relations of physical events, when the events
themselves appear, on a superficial view, to be perfectly anoma-
lous.

Such laws are, in some respects, analogous to the cycles
winch I have already mentioned ; but they differ fr6m them in
Uiis, that a cycle is, commonly, deduced from observations made
on physical events which are obvious to the senses ; whereas
the laws we have now been considering are deduced from an
examination of relations which are known only to men of scioice.
The most celebrated astronomical cycles, acoordiogly, are of a
very remote antiquity, and were probably discovered at a period
when the study of astronomy consisted merely in accumi:dating
and recording the more striking appearances of the heav^is.

II. Memory aisled by the power of deducing parUeular trutht
firtnn general principles, — Having now endeavored to show
how much philosophy contributes to extend our knowledge of
^ts, by idding our natural powers of invention and discovery,
i proceed to explain in what manner it supersedes Uie neoea-
sity of stud3ring particular truths, by putting us in possession of
a comparatively small number of general principles in which
they are involved.

I already remarked the assistance which phik>sophy gives to
the Memory, in consequence of the arrangement it introduoes
among our ideas. In this respect, even a hypothetical theory
may faciUtate the recollection of facts j in the same maimer in
which the Memory is aided in remembering thj^ objects of
natural history by artificial classifications.*

« [" Classification is a contrivance for the best possible orderfng of thfr
Vleasof oligectsiiloariiiiBds; for eaaaiif thrideai to Mooaipfiay or sae-

MEMORT. 801

The advantages, however, w€i derive from true philosophjri
are incomparablj greater than what are to be expected from
any hypothetical theories. These, indeed, may assist us in
recollecting the particulars we are already acquainted with ;
biit it is only from the laws of nature, which have be^i traced
analytically from facts, that we can venture, with saiety, to de-
duce consequences by reasoning a primi. An example will
illustrate and confirm ^is observation.

Suppose that a glass tabe, thirty inches long, is filled with

ceed one another In snch « way as shall give us tlie greatest command over
our knowledge already acquired, and lead most directly to the acquisition
cff more. The general problem of Classification, in reference to these pur-
poses, may be stated as follows : To provide that things shall he thought of
ill such groups, and those groups in such an order, as will best conduce to
the Temembranoe' and to the ascertainment of their laws."

** There ts no property of objects which may not be taken, if we please,
as the foundation for a classification or mental grouping of those objects ;
and, in our first attempts, we are likely to select for that purpose properties
vrhielk are simple, easily conceived, and perceptible on a first view, with-
out any previous process of thought. Thus, Toumefort's arrangement of
plants was founded on the shape and divisions of the corolla ; and that
which is commonly called the Linnssan, (though Linnseus also suggested
another and more scientific arrangement,) was grounded chiefly upon the
number of the stamens and pistils.

'' But these classifications, which are at first recommended by the facility
they afford us of ascerta-ining to what flass any individual belongs, are
seldom mudi adapted to the ends «f that Classification which is the subject
of oar present remarks. [They are fike the alphabetical arrangement of
words in a dictionary, which answers no other purpose than that of en-
abling us easily to find the particular word which we are in search of.]
The LinnsMm arrangement answers the purpose of making us think to-
gether of all those kinds of plants which possess the same number of sta*
mens and pifitila ; but to think of them in that manner is of little use,
Mnce we seldom have any thing to affirm in common of the plants which
have a given number of stamens and pistils. . . . And inasmuch as,
by habitually thmking of plants in these groups, we are prevented from
liabitually thinking of them in groups which have a greater number of
properties in common, the effect of sudi a classification, when system-
atically adhered to, upon our habits of thought, must be regarded as mis-
chievoas.

*^ The ends of scientific damification are beat answered when the oljeeM
26

MS KKKOBT.

mercurj, excepting eight inches, and is inTertedyaa in the Torri*
cellian experiment, so that the eight inches of conunon air may
rise to the top ; and that I wish to know at what height the
mercorj will remain suspended in the tuhe^the barometer heing
at that time twenty-eight inches high. There is here a combi-
nation of different laws, which it is necessary to attend to, in
order to be able to predict the result. 1. The air is a heavy
fluid, and the pressure of the atmosphere is measured by the
column of mercury in the barometer. 2. The air is an elastic
fluid, and its elasticity at the earth's sur&ce (as it resists the
pressure of the atmosphere) is measured by the column of mer-

are foimed into groups, respecting which a greater namber of general propo-
sitions can be made, and those propositions more important, than could
be made respecting any other groups into which tiie same things oonld be
distribated. The properties, therefore, according to whidi objects are
classified, should, if possible, be those which are the causes of many other
properties ; or, at any rate, which are sure marks of them. ... A
classification thus formed is properly scientific or philosophical, and is
commonly called a Natural, in contradistinction to a Technical or Arti
flcial, classification or arrangement." Mill's &fstem of Logic, Am. ed. pp.
432-434.

To these excellent remarks of Mr. Mill, it may be added, that writers
even upon the moral sciences, in which classification is less essential as an
aid to the processes of invention and discovery, still strive to assist the
Memory of their readers, and to give a sort of factitious unity to their
otherwise isolated disquisitions, by bringing forward, with undue promi-
nence, some one fact or principle,- on which all their other speculations
seem to hitch, and which serves, so to speak, as a kind of key-note to the
whole work. Thus, in his Jlieorif of Morai Sentmenis, Adam Smith, as
we believe, places nutre stress upon sympathy^ and adduces it more fte-
quently to aid in the explanation of complex moral phenomena, than be
would have done for purely philosophical reasons, had he not wished to
give a semblance of harmony and systematic completeness to his remarks
upon a great variety of subjects; He uses a similar artifice in his great
work upon the Wealth of Nations, in which a great deal more is said about
the division of labor, than would have appeared necessary, had he not been
anxious to avoid the air of desultory speculation. A more transparent
artifice is often adopted by periodical essayists, like Steele, Swift, Addison,
and Goldsmith, by carrying out the fiction of a club of contributors, or an
imaginary editor, so that rambling essays upon many subjects may hava
a slender thread of connection with each other. 1

KEMOBT. SOS

eory in the barometer. 8. In different states, the elastic force
of the air is reciprocally as the spaces which it occupies. But,
in this experiment, the mercury which remains suspended in
the tube, together with the elastic force of the air in the top of
the tube, is a counterbalance to the pressure of the atmosphere ;
and therefore, their joint effect must be equal to the pressure of
a column of mercury twenty-eight inches high. Hence we
obtain an algebraical equation, which affords an easy solution of
the problem. It is further evident, that my knowledge of the
physical laws which are here combined, puts it in my power to
foretell the result, not only m this case, but in aU the cases of a
* similar nature which can be supposed. The problem, in any
particular instance, might be solved by making the experiment ;
but the result would be of no use to me, if the slightest alter-
ation were made on the data.

It is in this manner that philosophy, by putting us in posses-
sion of a few general facts, enables us to determine, by reason-
ing, what will be the result of any supposed combination of
them, and thus to comprehend an infinite variety of particulars,
which no Memory, however vigorous, would have been able to
retain. In consequence of the knowledge of such general facts,
the philosopher is relieved from the necessity of treasuring up
in his mind aU those truths which are involved in his principles,
and which may be deduced from them by reasoning ; and he
can often prosecute his discoveries, synthetically, in those parts
of the universe which he has no access to examine by immedi-
ate observation. There is, therefore, this important difference
between the hypothetical theory and a theory obtained by induc-
tion ; that the latter not only enables us to remember the facts
we already know, but to ascertain, by reasoning, many facts
which we have never had an opportunity of examining : whereas,
when we reason from a hypothesis a priori, we are almost cer-
tain of running into error ; and, consequently, whatever may
be its use to the Memory, it can never be trusted to in judging
of cases which have not previously fallen within our experience.

Jn what sciences hypoOietical theories are most useful — There
»re some sciences, in which hypothetical theories are more use*

IM HBMOftT.

fill dun in ocken ; tliose adeaces, to wit, in iHJch ir« aaem
oocnsion for an ezteniive knowledge andareodyreooUeetion ci
iacU> and wkich, atUie fame time, are jet in too imperieot a
state to allow as to obtain joat tlieories b y the metliod of indao-
tion. ThiB is particularlj the caae in the acieooe of medkimi^
in which we are wider a necoMitj to applj oar knowledge, sadi
as it i«, to praetaoe. It is, alao^ in some d€|;ree,the ease in ogry
euUur^ In the merelj speculative parts of physic and cb^nis-
trj, we may go on patiently acoimalatiqg facts, withont fbmung
ai^ one conclusion, farther than onr facts audioriae as ; and
leave to poster!^ the credit of establishiDg the .theorj to which
oar labors are sabservienk Bat in mediciae, in which it is of
conseqaence to have aw knowledge at eammand^ it seems reason^
able to think, that hypothetical theories may be used with ad-
vantage ; provided always, that they are considered mer^ ui
the light (^artificial memories, and that the student is pr^iared
to lay them aside, or to correct them, in {Mt>portion as his knowl*
edge of nature becomes more extensive. I am, indeed, readj
to confess, that this is a caution whidi it is more easy to give, than
to follow ; for it is painful to change any of our habits of
arrangement, and to relinquish those systems in which we have
been educated, and which have long flattered as with an idea
of our own wisdom. Dr« Gregory mentions it as a striking
and distinguishing circumstance in the character of Sydenham,
that, although full of hypothetical reasoning, it did not rend»
him Uie less attentive to observation ; and that his hypotheses
seem to have sat so loosely about him, that either they did not
influence his practice at all, or he coold easily abandon them,
whenever they would not bead to his expmence.

y . Effects produced on the Msmory hy commifttin§ to wriiin§
our acquired km^oledj^, — Having treated at oonsideTable length
of the improvement of Memory, it may not be im|»oper, before
leaving this part of the subject, to consider what effects are
likely to be produced on the mind by the practice of committing
to writing our acquired knowledge. That such a practice is
na&vorable, in some respects, to the Acuity of Memory, by
sqpersedii^^, to a certain de^e<s the necessity of Its eacertions,

HSMOOT. iM

kfta been <rfieii remarked, aad, I baliero^ k tru^ ; but th^ tA^mtt
tages witb whioh it is attended in other respeo^ are 90 import

tant, as to overbalance greatly this trifliAg inconvenienca.

It is not mj intention, at present, to examine and compare
together the different methods which have been proposed, of
keeping a eommonphce^book. In this, as in other cases of a
similar kind, it may be difficult, perhaps, or impossible, to
establish any rules which will apply universally. Individwds
must be left to judge for themselves, and to adapt their con-
trivances to the particular nature of their literary pursuits, and
to their own peculiar habits of association and arrangement;
The remarks which I am to offer are very general, and are in-
tended merely to illustrate a few of the advantages which the
art of writing affords to the philosopher, for recording, in the
oourse <^ his progress through life, the results of his specula*
tions, and the fruits of his experience.

The utility of writing, in enabling one generation to transmit
its discoveries to another, and in thus giving rise to a gradual
progress in the species, has been sufficiently illustrated by many
authors. Little attention, however, has been paid to another of
its effects, which is no less important } I mean, to the foundation
which it lays for a perpetual progress in the intellectual powors
of the individual.

AdvmUmffei of the prmetice #f re^^ding $ur idetu mnd «9o
pwience. <^^ It is to experience, and to our own rejections, that
we are indebted for by far the most valuable part of our knowU
edge ; and hence it is, that althou^ in youth the imagination
may be more vigorous, and the genius more original, than in
advanced years ; yet, in the case of a man of observation and
inquiry, the judgment may be expected, at least as long as his
Acuities remain in perfection, to become every day sounder and
more enlightened. It is, however, only by the constant practice
of writing, that the results of our experience, and the progress
of our ideas, can be accurately recorded. If they are trusted
merely to the Memory, they will gradually vanish from it like
a dream, or will come in time to be so blended with the 8U|^9»
tions of imagination, that we shall not be able to rea«m Uom
26*

t06 XXMOBt.

aem with any degree of oonfidenoe. What improyements in
Maence might we not flatter oorselves with the hopes of accom-
plishing, had we only activity and industry to treasure up every
plausible hint that occurs to us I Hardly a day passes, when
many such do not occur to ourselves, or are suggested by others ;
and detached and insulated as they may appear at present, some
of them may, perhaps, afterwards, at the distance of years, fur-
nish the key-stone of an important system*

A long train ofreatoning or invetttgatian cannot he prosecuted
except in writing. — But it is not only in this point of view, that
the philosopher derives advantage from the practice of writing.
Without its asfflstance, he could seldom be able to advance
beyond those simple elementary truths which are current in the
world, and which form, in the various branches of science, the
established creed of the age he lives in. How inconsiderable
would have been the progress of mathematicians, in their more
abstruse speculations, without the aid of the dgelraicdl notation ;
and to what sublime discoveries have they been led by this
beautifnl contrivance, which, by relieving the Memory of the
effort necessary for recollecting the steps of a long investiga-
tion, has enabled them to prosecute an infinite variety of in-
quiries, to which the unassisted powers of the human mind would
have been altogether unequal ! In the other sdences, it is true,
we have seldom or never occasion to follow out such long chains
of consequences as in mathematics ; but in these sciences, if the
chain of investigation be shorter, it is far more difficult to make
the transition from one link to another ; and it is only by dwell-
ing long on our ideas, and rendering them perfectly familiar to
us, that such transitions can, in most instances, be made with
safety. In morals and polities, when we advance a step beyond
those elementary truths which are daily presented to us in books
or conversation, there is no method of rendering our conclusions
jBeimiliar to us, but by committing them to writing, and making
them frequently the subjects of our meditation. When we have
once done so, these conclusions become elementary truths with
respect to us ; and we may advance from them with confidence
to others which are more remote, and which are far beyond the

MBICOST. 3(7

reach of vulgar discovery. By following such a plan, we can
hardly fail to have oar industry rewarded in due time by some
important improvement ; and it is only by such a plan, that we
can reasonably hope to extend considerably the boundaries of
human knowledge. I do not say that these habits of study are
equally favorable to brilliancy of conversation. On the con-
trary, I believe that those men who possess this accomplishment
in the highest degree, are such as do not advance beyond ele-
mentary truths ; or rather, perhaps, who advance only a single
Utep beyond them ; that is, who think a little more deeply than
the vulgar, but whose conclusions are not so far removed from
common opinions, as to render it necessary for them, when called
upon to defend them, to exhaust the patience of their hearers,
by stating a long train of intermediate ideas. They who have
pushed their inquiries much further than the common systems
of their times, and have rendered familiar to their own minds
the intermediate steps by which they have been led to their con-
clusions, are too apt to conceive other men to be in the same
situation with themselves ; and when they mean to instruct, are
mortified to find that they are only regarded as paradoxical and
visionary. It is but rarely we find a man of very splendid and
various conversation to be possessed of a profound judgment^
or of great originality of genius.

Nor is it merely to the philosopher, who wishes to distinguish
himself by his discoveries, that writing affords a useful instru-
ment of study. • Important assistance may be derived from it
by all those who wish to impress on their minds the investiga-
tions which occur to them in the course of their reading ; for
although writing may weaken, as I already acknowledge it does,
a Memory for detached observations, or for insulated facts, it
will be found the only effectual method of fixing in it, perma-
nently, those acquisitions which involve long processes of
reasoning.

How what we ham from cmother may he made our own. —
When we are employed in inquiries of our own, the conclusions
which we form make a much deeper and more lasting impress
•ion on the Memory, than any knowledge which we imbibe paa*

806 MSMOmT.

givelj from aiiotlier. This is aodoubtecUy owing, in patt, to Uis
effect which the ardor of discovery has, in xouBing the acfeiTity
of the mind, and in fixing its attention ; but I apprehend it is
ehieflj to be ascribed to this, that when we follow out a train
of thinking of our own, our ideas are arranged in that order
which is most agreeable to our prevailing habits of association.
The only method of putting our acquired knowledge on a level,
in this respect, with our original speculations, is, after making
ourselves acquainted with our author's ideas, to study the sub-
ject over again in our own way ; to pause, from time to time,
in the course of our reading, in order to consider what we have
gained ; to recdttect what the pr(^)Qsitions are, which the author
wishes to establish, and to examine the different proo& whieh
he employs to support them. In making such ao experiment^
we commonly find, that the different steps of the process arrange
themselves in our minds, in a manner different from that in
which the author has stated them ; and that, while his argu-
ment seems, in some places, obscure, from its conciseness, it is
tedious in others, from being unnecessarily expanded. When
we have reduced the reasoning to that form which appears to
ourselves to be the most natural and satisfactory, we may oon-
dude with certainty, not that this form is better in itself than
another, but that it is the best adapted to our Memory. Such
reasonings, therefore, as we have occasion frequently to ai^ly,
either in the business of life, or in the course of our studies, it
is oi importance to us to commit to writing, in«a language and
in an order of our own ; and if, at any time, we find it necessary
to refresh our recollection on the subject, to have recourse to
our own composition, in preference to that of any other author.*

* [It is a little remarkable that Stewart, in this ingenious disquisition
upon the advantages of the practiGe of writing out oor thoughts, should
have overlooked that upon which Lord Bacon lays especial stress, when
he says, " Reading maketh a full man, conference a ready man, and writ-
ing an exact man." In no other way, are we so sure of obtaining precision
and exactness in our knowledge and in our trains of reasoning and
speculation, as by writing out our thoughts and recollections as &st as
ihey occur to us, whether we aftemards cnnefally ezamino the maausanpi

mi:mobt.

TKJTereTit modes of reading. — That the

vft coimnovAy foWowcd ia very different froi

Taeen Tccommcnding, will not be dii3pute<3

nserdy to pass an idle hour, or to please

idea of employment) Tvhile their in dole ace

any active e^tertion ; and a considei-able ni

the display which they are afterwards to i

acquisitions. From whichsoever of these

led to the perusal of books, it is hardly

derive from them any material advantage,

from indolence, the ideas which pass tli

prohably leave little or no impression ; a

vanitjj he will be more anxious to select s

the matter or expression, than to seize the

the author's reasoning, or to examine how

additions to the stock of useful and solid k

it j& scarce possible," says Dr, Butler, " to s

way or other, of almost every thing which

thoughts, yet it is certain tliat many pt

causes^ never exercise their judgment upi

theni, in such a manner as to be able to dc

conclusive* They are perhaps enter taim

not so with others ; they like, and they

or not. In conversation, and even in our s
attention ih apt to wander from the main sul
fallacies in reasoning escape unnoticed, atid vagi
expression is apt to dim the truth of which we
catch a glimpse. But when wc think with the
pellcd to think slowly ; we are obliged to i>ause
VTG are writing out, while at the same lime the
to wander from it, so that other related idesis h
to us, and we have time to reflect upon these
The necessary effort to retain perspicuity of lau
cision to our thoughts ; and the idea which Vi
vaguely seen when we began to write, soon i
and completeness. The effort to instruct oth
upon the mind with that of writing out our kno
of the old proverb, ihcere alios docet doctorem. [

no VEVQBT*

lluU whioh 18 piopoeed to be made oijt, be really made ovA at
not ; whether a matter be stated according to the real truth of
the case, seems, to the generality of people, a circumstance of
' little or no importance. Arguments are oflen wanted for some
accidental purpose ; but proof, as such, is what they never want,
for their own satisfaction of mind, or conduct in life. Not to
mention the multitudes who read merely for the sake of talking,
or to qualify themselves for the world, or some such kind of
reasons, there are, even of the few who read for their own
entertainment, and have a real curiosity to see what is saidj
several, which is astonishing, who have no sort of curiosity to
see what is true ; I say curiosity, because it is too obvious to be
mentioned how much that religious and sacred attention which
is due to truth, and to the important question, what is the rule
of life, is lost out of the world.

^ For the sake of this whole class of readers, for they are of
different capacities, different kinds, and get into this way from
different occasions, I have often wished that it had been the
custom to lay before people nothing in matters of argument
but premises, and leave them to draw conclusions themselves ;
which, although it could not be done in all cases, might in
many.

^ The great number of books and papers of amusement,
which, of one kind or another, daily come in one's way, have in
part occasioned, and most perfectly fall in with and humor, this
idle way of reading and considering things. By this meana^
time, even in solitude, is happily got rid of without tKe pain of
attention ; neither is any part of it more put to the account of
idleness, (one can scarce forbear saying, is spent with less
thought,) than great part of that which is spent in reading."

If the plan of study which I formerly described were adopted
it would, undoubtedly, diminish very much the number of books
which it would be possible to turn over ; but I am convinced
that it would add greatly to the stock of useful and solid knowl-
edge ; and, by rendering our acquired ideas in some measure
)ur own, would give us a more ready and practical command of
iiem ; not to mention, that if we are possessed of any inventive

wmom. ail

powers, 8iic): exerebed iiroold oantinually fumiah tbem with an
opportunitj o£ displaying thenoselyes upon all the different sub-
jects which may pass under our review.

Nothing, in truth, has such a tendency to weaken, not only
the powers of invention, but the intellectual powers in generalg
as a habit of extensive and various reading, without reflection*
The activity and force of the mind are gradually impaired, la
consequence of disuse ; and not unfrequently all our principlef
and opinions come to be lost, in the infinite multiplicity and dii*
cordancy of our acquired ideas*

By confining our ambition to pursue the truth with modesty
and candor, and learning to value our acquisitions only as &f
as they contribute to make us wiser and happier, we may, per*
baps, be obliged to sacrifice the temporary admiration of ik^
common dispensers of literary fame ; but we may rest assuredf
that it Is in this way only we can hope to make real progress in
knowledge, or to enrich the world with useful inventions.

^ It requires courage, indeed," as Helvetiua has remarkedi
^ to remain ignorant of those useless sabje<^ which are genera
ally valued ; " but it is a courage necessary to men who eithei:
love the truths or who aspire to establish a permanent reput
tation.

VL Of orHficial Memory, -^'Bj an artificial Memory i«
meanl^ a method of connecting in the mind things difficult to be
remembered, with the things easily remembered ; to as to en^
able it to retain and to recollect the former, by means of tb^
latter. For this purpose, various contrivances have been pr(w
posed, but I think the foregmng definition applies to all of them

Some sorts of artificial Memory are intended to assist the
natural powers of the human mind on particular ocoasiona»
which require a more than ordinary efibrt of recollection ; for
example, to assist a public speaker to recollect the arrangement
of a long discourse. Others have been devised with a view to
enable us to extend the circle of our acquired knowledge, and
to give us a more ready command of all the various particulani
of our information.

The topical Memory so much celebrated among the ancteol
f hctorlcians, comes under the former description.

t]2 nmoBT.

Hoim anoeiaii&n mag h$ madeio oMtUi Memory. — I alreadj re-
marked the effect of tensibU obfeeii, in recalling to the mind the
ideas with which it happened to he occupied, at the time when
these objects were formerly perceived. In travelling along a
road, the sight of the more remarkable scenes we meet with,
freqaently puts us in mind of the subjects we were thinking or
talking of when we last saw them. Such &ctB, which are per-
fectly familiar even to the vulgar, might very naturally suggest
the possibility of assisting the Memory, by ettabliUhing a connec-
tion between the ideas we wish to remember, and certain sensible
objects, which have been found from experience to make a per>
manent impression on the mind. I have been told of a young
woman, in a very low rank of life, who contrived a method of
committing to Memory the sermons which she was accustomed
to hear, by fixmg her attention, during the different heads of
the discourse, on different compartments of the roof of the
church, in such a manner as that, when she afterwards saw the
roof, or recollected the order in which its compartments were
disposed, she recollected the method which the preacher had
observed in treating his subject This contrivance was perfectly
analogous to the topical Memory of the ancients ; an art which,
whatever be the opinion we entertain of its use, is certainly
entitled, in a high degree, to the pnuse of ingenuity.

Suppose that I were to fix in my Memory the different
apartments in some very large building, and that I had accus-
tomed myself to think of these apartments always in the same
invariable order. Suppose further, that in preparing myself
for a public discourse, in which I had occasion to treat of a great
variety of particulars, I was anxious to fix in my Memory the
order I proposed to observe in the communication of my ideas.
It is evident, that by a proper division of my subject into heads,
and by connecting each head with a particular apartment,
(which I could easily do, by conceiving myself to be sitting in
the apartment while I was studying the part of my discourse I
meant to connect with it,) the habitual order in which these
apartments occurred to my thoughts, would present to me, in
their proper arrangement, and without any effort on my part»

nnoBT. 818

die ideas rf which I was to treat It is also obvious, that a
Terj Httle practice would enable me to avail myself of this con-
trivance, without any embarrassment or distraction of mj at-
tention.

Haw f car artificial Memory is useJvL — As to the utility of
this art, it appears to me to depend entirely on the particular
object which we suppose the speaker to have in view ; whether,
as was too often the case with the ancient rhetoricians, to be«
wilder a judge, and to silence an adversary ; or fairly and can-
didly to lead an audience to the truth. On the former suppo-
sition,- nothing can possibly give an orator a greater superiority,
than the possession of a secret, which, while it enables him to
express himself with facility and the appearance of method,
puts it in his power, at the same time, to dispose his arguments
and his &cts in whatever order he judges to be the most proper
to mislead the judgment, and to perplex the Memory, of those
whom he addresses. And such, it is manifest, is the effect, not
only of the topical Memory of the ancients, but of all other
contrivances which aid the recollection, upon any principle dif-
ferent from the natural and logical arrangement of our ideas.

To those, on the other hand, who speak with a view to con-
vince or to inform others, it is of consequence that the topics
which they mean to illustrate, should be arranged in an order
equally favorable to their own recollection and to that of their
hearers. For this purpose, nothing is effectual but that method
which is suggested by the order of their own investigations ; a
method which leads the mind from one idea to another, either
by means of obvious and striking associations, or by those rela-
tions which connect the different steps of a clear and accurate
process of reasoning. It is thus only that the attention of an
audience can be completely and incessantly engaged, and that
the substance oi a long discourse can be remembered without
effort. And it is thus only that a speaker, after a mature con-
sideration of his subject, can possess a just confidence in his
own powers of recollection, in stating all the different premises
which lead to the conclusion he wishes ,to establish.
. Variam kinds of arii^fieial Memory. — In modem times, suck

27

eootrinuMM ha¥«i been terj little, if iilikO, mde ate of by prii-
Uc 8peAkar8 ; but varioiit ingeniooa attempts have been made,
to assist the Memory in acquiring and retaining those branches
of knowledge which it has been supposed necessary for a
scholar to carry always aboat with him ; and which, at the same
time, from the number of particular details which they invdT^
are not calculated, of themselves, to make a very lasting im-
pression on the mind. Of this sort is the Memoria Techmcu of
Mr. Grey, in which a great deal of historical, chronological,
and geographical knowledge is comprised in a set of verses,
which the student is supposed to make as familiar to himself as
school-boys do the rules of grammar. These verses are, in
general, a mere assemblage of proper names, disposed in arude
sort <tf measure ; some slight alterations being oecasionaUy
made on the final syllables of the words, so as to be sigmficaal
(according to certain principles laid down in the beginning of
the work) of important dates, or of other particulars which it
speared to the author useful to associate with the names.
. I have heard very opposite (pinions with respect to the
utility of this ingenious system. The prevailing opinion is, I
believe, against it; although it has been mentioned in terms of
high approbation by some writers of eminence. Dr. Priesdey^
whose judgment, in matters of this sort, is oertainly entitled to
lespect, has said, that '< it is a method so easily learned, and
which may be of so much use in recollecting dates, when other
methods are not at hand, that he thinks all persons of a liberal
education inexcusable, who will not take the small degree of
pains that is necessary to make themselves masters of it; or
who think any thing mean, or unworthy of their notice, which
is so useful and convenient"

In judging of the utility of this, or of any other contrivaDce
of the same kind, to a particular person, a great deal must de«
pend on the species of Memory which he has received from
nature, or has acquired in the course of his early education.
Some meU) as I already remarked, (especially among those who
have been habitually exercised in childhood in getting by hear!
grammar rules,) have an extraordinary facility in acquirii^ and

VBMOBT. aid

retiuDing tlie most barbarous «Dd tbe luost insignifieant veraes ;
which another person would find as difficult to remember, as the
geographical and chronological details of which it is the object
of this art to relieve the Memory. Allowing, therefore, the
general utility of the art, no one method, perhaps, is entitled to
an exclusive preference ; as one contrivance may be best suited
to the faculties of one person, and a very different one to those
of another.

Objection to aU expedients of this nature, — One important
objection applies to all of them, that they accustom the mind (p
associate ideas by accidental and arbitrary connections; and^
therefore, how much soever they may contribute, in the course
of conversation, to an ostentatious display of acquired knowl*
edge, they are, perhaps, of little real service to us, when we ar^
seriously engaged in the pursuit of truth. I own, too, I am
very doubtful with respect to the utility of a great part of that
information which they are commonly employed to impress on
the Memory, and on which the generality of learned men ar«
disposed to value themselves. It certainly is of no use, but id
so £eu: as it is subservient to the gratification of their vanity ;
and the acquisition of it consumes a great deal of time and
attention, which might have been employed in extending th<i
boundaries of human knowledge. To those, however, who are
of a different opinion, such contrivances as Mr. Grey's may be
extremely useful ; and to all men they may be of service, in
fixing in the Memory those insulated and uninteresting particu*
lars which it is either necessary for them to be acquainted with,
from their »tuation, or which custom has rendered, in the com*'
mon opinion, essential branches of a liberal education. I would,
in particular, recommend this author's method of recollecting
dates, by substituting letters for the numeral cyphers; and
forming these letters into words, and the words into verses. I
have found it, at least in my own case, the most effectual of all
such contrivances of which I have had experience.

Vn. Impwrtance of making a proper selection among lh€ oft-
jccts of our knowledge^ in order to derive advantage from th$
acquisitions of JMmwry. — * The cultivation of Memory, with all

816 mmoBT.

tfie helps that we can derive to it from art, will be of little use
to as, anless we make a proper selection of the particalars to
be remembered. Sueh a selection is necessary to enable us to
profit bj reading ; and still more so, to enable us to profit by
observation, to which every man is indebted for by far the most
valuable part of his knowledge.

When we first enter on any new literary pursuit, we com
monly find our efibrts of attention painful and unsatisfactory.
We have no discrimination in our curiosity ; and by grasping at
every thing, we fail in making those moderate acquisitions which
are suited to our limited faculties. As our knowledge extends,
we learn to know what particalars are likely to be of use to us ;
and acquire a habit of directing our examination to these, with-
out distracting the attention with others. It is partly owing to
a similar circumstance, that most readers complain of a defect
of Memory, when they first enter on the study of history. They
cannot separate important from trifling facts, and find themselves
unable to retain any thing, from their anxiety to secure the
whole;

How iuch a selection can best he m(ide. — In order to give a
proper direction to our attention in the course of our studies, it
is useful, before engaging in particular pursuits, to acquire as
familiar an acquaintance as possible with the great outlines of
the difierent branches of science ; with the most important con-
clusions which have hitherto been formed in them, and with tiie
most important desiderata which remain to be supplied. In the
case, too, of those parts of knowledge which are not yet ripe
for the fi>rmation of philosophical systems, it may be of use to
study the various hypothetical theories which have been pro-
posed for connecting together and arranging the phenomena.
By such general views alone, we can prevent ourselves from
being lost amidst a labyrinth of particulars, or can engage in a
course of extensive and various reading with an enlightened
and discriminating attention. While they withdraw our notice
frx>m barren and insulated facts, they direct it to such as tend to
fUustrate principles which have either been already established,
ar which, from having that degree of connection among them-

ielvea whiob U aeceisary to give pliuMBbiiltj to a bjpodieUei^
Ibeoiy, are likely to funuBh, in time, the materials of a juster
system.

The proper use of kj^hetical theories, *— Some of the follow-
ers oi Xiord Bacon have^ I think, been led, in their zeal for the
method of induction, to censure hypothetical theories with too
great a degree of severity. Such theories have certainly been
frequently of use, mpviUng philosophers upon the road of dis-
covery. Indeed, it has probably been in this way, that most
discoveries have been made ; for although a knowledge of facts
must be prior to the formation of a just theory, yet a hypotheti-
cal theory is generally our best guide to the knowledge of useful
&cts. If a man, without forming to himself any conjecture
concerning the unknown laws ci nature, were to set himself
merely to accumulate facts at random, he might, perhaps, stumble
upon some important discovery ; but by far the greater part of
his labors would be wholly useless. Every philosophical in-
quirer, before he begins a set of experiments, has some general
principle in his view, which he suspects to be a law of nature ; *
and although his conjectures may be often wrong, yet they serve
to give his inquiries a particular direction, and to bring under
his eye a number of facts which have a certain relation to each
other. It has been often remarked, that the attempts to discover
the philosopher's stone, and the quadrature of the circle, havQ
led to many useful discoveries in chemistry and mathematics^
And they have plainly done so, merely by limiting the field of
observation and inquiry, and checking that indiscriminate and
desultory attention which is so natural to an indolent mind. A

* *' Secte siqnidem Plato, ' Qui aliqaid qnflBrit, id ipsam, quod qn«riV
general! qnadam notione comprehendit : aUter, qai fieri potest, at illad^
cum fuerit inventum, agnoscatV Idcirco quo amplior et certior fuerit
anticipatio nostra, eo magis directa et compendiosa erit investigatio." —
[As Plato justly observes, * He who is in search of any thing, has some
general notion of what it is that he is seeking for ; otherwise, how should
he lecogniae it when found V Therefore, according as our antidpatioD ia
full and clear, so wUl oar investigatiim bo brief and direct]—/^ ^i^
SaaU, lib. y. cap. 3.

27*

S18 MSKOBT.

hypollielieal theory, howeyer erroneonfl, may answer a amflar
purpose* ^ Pmdens interrogatio," says Lord BacoD, ^ est dimid-
imn scientiflB. Yaga enim experientia et se tantom seqaena
mera palpatio est, et homines potius stapefacit quam informat.''
[A wise conjecture is one half of knowledge. For experimental
investigation made at random, and only following itself, is mere
groping, and rather confounds than instructs men.] What, in-
deed, are Newton's queries, but so many hypotheses which are
proposed as subjects of examination to philosophers ? And did
not even the great doctrine of gravitation take its first rise from
a fortunate conjecture ?

While, therefore, we maintain, with the followers of Baoon,
that no theory is to be admitted as proved, any further than it
is supported by fiicts, we should, at the same time, acknowledge
our obligations to those writers who hazard their conjectures to
the world with modesty and diffidence. And it may not be im-
proper to add, that men of a systematizing turn are not now so
useless as formerly ; for we are already possessed of a great
stock of &cts ; and there is scarcely any theory so bad, as not
to bring together a number of particulars which have a certain
degree of relation or analogy to each other.

The foregoing remarks are applicable to all our various
studies ; whether they are conducted in the way of reading, or
of obtervaHon, From neither of these two sources of informa-
tion can we hope to derive much advantage, unless we have
some general principles to direct our attention to proper objects.

What to oUerve. — With respect to observationj some further
cautions may be useful ; for, in guarding against an indiscrimi-
nate accumulation of particulars, it is possible to fall into the
opposite extreme, and to acquire a habit of inattention to the
phenomena which present themselves to our senses. The
former is the error of men of little education ; the latter is
more common among men of retirement and study.

Danger of wUhdrawing the attention too much from particu-
lars and detaili. — One of the chief effects of a liberal edu-
cation, is, to enable us to withdraw the attention from the pre»*
ant objects of our perceptions, anl to dwell at pleasure on the

HEHOKT. 819

past, tlie absent, or tbe future. But when we are led to carry
these efforts to an excess, either from a warm and romantic
imagination, or from anxious and sanguine temper, it is easy to
see that the power of observation is likely to be weakened, and
habits of inattention to be contracted. The same effect may be
produced by too early an indulgence in philosophical pursuits,
before the mind has been prepared for the study of general
truths, by exercising its faculties among particular objects and
particular occurrences. In this way, it contracts an aversion to
the examination of details, from the pleasure which it has eic-
perienced in the contemplation or in the discovery of general
principles. Both of these turns of thought, however, pre-
suppose a certain degree of observation ; for the materials of
imagination are supplied by the senses ; and the general truths
which occupy the philosopher, would be wholly unintelligible to
him, if he was a total stranger to all experience with respect to
the course of nature and of human life. The observations, in*
deed, \^hich are made by men of a warm imagination, are likely
to be inaccurate and fallacious ; and those of the speculative
philosopher are frequently carried no further than is necessary
to enable him to comprehend the terms which relate to the sub-
jects of his reasoning ; but both the one and the other must
have looked abroad occasionally at nature, and at the world ; if
not to ascertain facts by actual examination, at least to store
their minds with ideas.

The metaphysician^ whose attention is directed to the faculties
and operations of the mind, is the only man who possesses within
Idmself the materials of his speculations and reasonings. It is
accordingly, among this class of literary men, that habits of in-
attention to things external have been carried to the greatest
extreme.

It is observed by Dr. Reid, that the power of reflection^ (by
which he means the power of attending to the subjects of oui
consciousness,) is the last of our intellectual faculties which un-
folds itself; and that, in the greater part of mankind, it never
imfolds itself at all. It is a power, indeed, which being sub-
iervient merely to the gratification of metaphysical curiosity, it

•Sf MKKOftT.

k not ameofiiJly aeeesiify for at to ponefls^ in any ooaBMer*
able di^^ree. TIU ptHoer of obtervaiiimf on the other h«id|
which is necessary for the preservadon even of our animal ex«
istenee, diicoverg it$eif %n tn/anii long before thej attain the use
of speedi, or rather, I should have said, as soon as they ecMne
into the world ; and where nature is allowed free scope, it c(xi«
tinues active and vigorous through life. It was plainly the in-
tention of nature, that in in&ncy and youth, it should occupy
the mind ahnost exclusively, and that we should acquire all our
necessary information before engaging in peculations wbidi
are less essential ; and accordingly, this is the history of the in-
tellectual progress, in by far the greater number of individuals.
In consequence of this, the difficulty of metaphysical researches
is undoubtedly much increased ; for the mind, being oonstantly
occupied in the earlier part of life about the pn^rties and laws
ai matter, acquires habiU of inaitmtiim to A$ subjteU of eoa-
9eiou»M$$j which are not to be surmounted, without a degree of
patience and perseverance of which few men are capable ; but
the inconvenience would evidently have been greatly inereased,
if the order of nature had, in this respect, been reversed, and if
the curiosity had been excited at as early a period, by the phe*
nomena of the intellectual world, as by those of the materiaL
Of what would have happened on this supposition, we may form
a judgment from those men who, in consequence of an excessive
indulgence in metaphysical pursuits, have weakened, to an nn*
natnml degree, their capacity of attending to external olgects
and occurrences. Few metaphysicians, perhaps, are to be focmd,
who are not deficient in the power of observation ; for, althoagh
a taste for such abstract speculations is &r from being common,
it is more apt, perhaps, than any other, when it has once been
formed, to take an exclusive hold of the mind, and to shut up
the other sources of intellectual improvement. As the meta-
physician carries within himself the materials of his reasonings,
he is not under a necessity of looking abroad for subjects of
speculation or amusement ; and unless he be very careful to
guard against the effects of his favorite pursuits, he is in more
danger than literary men of any other denominatiwi, to k>9e aU

MfitfOBT. 'S21

Interest about the oommoa and proper objects of linman cari*
osity.

Jk edueaHon, ^ study of the mind tJwdd ccnm last. — Tt
prevent any danger from this qaarter,! apprehend that the
titudj of Uie mind should form the last branch of the education
of youth ; an order which nature herself seems to point out, by
"What I hare already remarked, with respect to the development
of our faculties. After the understanding is well stored witb
particular &cts, and has been conversant with particular scientific
pursuits, it will be enal^ed to speculate concerning its own
powers with additional advantage, and will run no hazard of
indulging too far in such inquiries. Nothing can be more ab-
surd, on this as well as on many other accounts, than the com-
mon practice which is foDowed in our universities, of beginning
a eiMirse of philosophical education with the study of logic If
this order were completely reversed ; and if the study of logic
were delayed til! after the mind of the student was well stored
Willi particular facts in physics, in chemistry, in natural and
civil history ; his attention might be led with the most important
advantage, and without wlj danger to his power of observation,
to an examinatimi of his own Acuities ; which, besides opening
to him a new and pleasing field of speculation, would enable him
to ^nm an estimate of his own powers, ef the acquisitions he
has made, of the habits he has formed, and of the further im-
provements of which his mind is susceptible.

In general, wherever habits of inattention, koSl an incapacity
of observation, are very remarkable, they will be found to have
arisen ftom some deffeot in early education. I already remm*ked,
that, when nature is allowed firee scope, the cariosity, during
early yoo^ is alive to every external object, and to eveiy ex-
ternal occurrence, whDe the powers of imagination and reflection
do not display themsdres till a much later period ; the former
till about the age of puberty, and the latter till we approach to
manhood. It sometimes, however, happens that, in consequence
of a peculiar disposition of mind, or of an infirm bodily consti-
ratioa, a child is led to seek amusement from books, and to kise
a reliah for those recrealioiis whkah are suited to hia a|g^ Im

•Sa* MXXOBT*

tach instancesi the ordinarj progress of the mtellectual powen
is prematorelj quickened ; but that best of all educations is lost
which nature has prepared both for the philosopher and the man
of the worldy amidst the active sports and the hazardous adven-
tures of childhood. It is firom these alone, that we can acquire,
not onlj that force of character which is suited to the more
arduous situations of life, but that complete and prompt com-
mand of attention to things external, without which, the highest
endowments of the understanding, however they maj fit a man
for the solitary speculations of the closet, are but of little use in
the practice of affairs, or for enabling him to profit by his per-
sonal experience.

How habits of inattention to detaib may he corrected, — Where^
however, such habits of inattention have unfortunately been
contracted, we ought not to despair of them as perfectly inca«
rable. The attention, indeed, as I formerly remarked, can
seldom be forced in particular instances ; but we may gradually
learn to place the objects we wish to attend to, in lights more
interesting than those in which we have been accustomed to
view them. Much may be expected from a change of scene,
and a change of pursuits ; but above all, much may be expected
from foreign traveL The objects which we meet with excite
our surprise by their novelty ; and in this manner, we not only
gradually acquire the power of observing and examining them
with attention, but, from the effects of contrast, the cariosity
comes to be roused with respect to the corresponding objects in
our own country, which, from our early familiarity with them,
we had formerly been accustomed to overlook. In this respect,
the effects of foreign travel, in directing the attention to fiuniliar
objects and occurrences, is somewhat analogous to that which
the study of a dead or of a foreign language produces, in lead-
ing the curiosity to examine the grammatical structure of our
own.

Considerable advantage may also be derived, in overcoming
the habits of inattention, which we may have contracted to par-
ticular subjects, fix)m studying the systems, true or false, which
philosophers have proposed for explaining or for arranging tbe

MEMOBT. S2S

fiieto ooimected with them* Bj means of these systems, not
onlj is the curiositj circumscribed and directed, instead of being
allowed to wander at random, but, in consequence of our being
enabled to connect facts with general principles, it becomes
interested in the examination of those particulars which would
otherwise have escaped our notice.

YELL Of the cannecHan between Memory and phUoeophiedl
geniue. — It is commonlj supposed, that genius is seldom united
with a very tenacious Memory. So far, however, as my own
observation has reached, I can scarcely recollect one person
who possesses the former of these qualities, without a more than
ordinary share of the latter.

On a superficial view of the subject, indeed, the common
opinion has some appearance of truth ; for, we are naturally led,
in consequence of the topics about which conversation is usually
employed, to estimate the extent of Memory by the impression
which trivial occurrences make upon it ; and these, in general,
escape the recollection of a man of ability, not because he ie
unahle to retain them, but because he does not attisnd to them. It
is probable, likewise, that accidental associations, founded od
contiguity in time and place, may make but a slight impression
on his mind. But it does not, therefore, follow, that his stock
of &cts is smalL They are connected together in his Memory
by principles of association different from those which prevail
in ordinary minds ; and they are, on that very account, the more
useful ; for as the associations are founded upon real connec-
tions among the ideas, (although they may be less conducive to
the fluency, and perhaps to the wit, of conversation,) they are
of incomparably greater use in suggesting &cts which are to
serve as a foundation for reasoning or for invention.

It frequently happens, too, that a man of genius, in conse*
quence of a peculiarly strong attachment to a particular subject,
may first feel a want of inclination, and may afterwards acquire
a want of capacity, of attending to common occurrences. But
it is probable, that the whole stock of ideas in his mind is not
inferior to that of other men ; and that^ however unprofitably he
may have directed his curiosity, the ignorance which he dia*

•24 uacoBt.

oov«ra en cndinarj subjects does Mi acise fiotti a want of
M€iiioi7, but from a pecaliarity ia the seiectkm whidi he has
made ef the objects of his stadj.

Montaigne frequently complains in his writings of his want
<if Memorj; and he indeed gives manj verj extraordiBary
instances of his ignorance on seme of the most ordinarj tofocs
ef information. But it is obriovs to anj person who reads his
works with attention, that this ignorance did not proceed from
an original defect of Memory, bat £pom the singular and whira-
eioal direcdon which his enraoskj had taken at aa early period
ef life. * I can do notiiiag,''aays iie,^ without my meacKHwidum-
book; and so great is my difficultf m remembering proper
tiames, that I am forced to call my domestic servants by their
effices. I am ignorant of the greater part of our coins in use ;
of the difference of one grain from another, both in the earth
end in the granary ; what use leaven is of in making bread, and
why wme must stand some time in ike rat before it ferments."
Yet the same author appears evidently, from his writings, to
have had his Memory sU»red with an infinite variety of apoplih
thegms, and of historicai passages, which bad struck his imagin-
ation ; and to have been familiariy acquainted, not only with the
names, but with the absord and exploded opinions of the anci^it
philosophers ; with Uw ideas of Plato, the Atoms o£ Epieiiros,
the plenum and veteuum of Leocippus and Democritas, (he water
of Thales, the numbers <^ Pythagoras, the infinite of Parmeifr-
ides, and the unity of Musasvs. In complaining, too, of his
wimt of presence oif mind, he indireolily acknowledges a degree
of Memory, which, if it had been judiciously employed, wouUL
)mve been more than sufficient for the acquisition of all thoee
common bran^es <^ knowledge, in which he appears to have
been deficient. ^ When I have aa oratbn to speak,*" says he,
-* nf any considerable length, I am reduced to the miserable
necessity of getting it, word for word, hj heart."

The strange and apparently inconsistent combination of
Icnowledge and ignorance which the writings of Montaigne ex-
hibit, led Makbranche, (who seems to have formed too low tm
typmion both of his genius and character,) to lax him with af-

fcjQftftti&n ; and ^rea to <!iill m question tlie credibilitj of aoind
of bM AdseitioiMS. But no one nrlio is well aoqDuu&ted with this
im6t anmsibg aniihor, can reasonably suspect lus ventcitj ; and,
in tlii« i»«sent in^itance) I can give him compile ciiedit, not onij
ftKHA my general opinion 43i liis sincerity, but from having ob«
served, in the course of my own experience, more than one ex-
ample of the same sort of oombinatixNi ; not, indeed, carried to
sack a length as Montaigne describes, but bearing a striki&g
resemlblaaoe to it.

The dlMervatftons which hav^ already been made, account, in
pUrt, £&t tlie origin of <lie ooantnen opinion^ that genius and
Memory am seldom imited in great degrees in the same person ;
and Bi Ibe same time ^iow> that some of the facts on which that
opisiion is lotinded do not justify suck a conclasioii. Besides
these) howev^ tkete sre 'oih.et circumstances, which, at first
view, eeem rather to indicate an incon^stency between exteat-
sive Memory and original genius*

^i^kcA kind &f Memory i$ possesmdhy tAe jiy^tftwojp^. --^ The
species of Memory wkidi excites the greatest degree of ad-
miradon in the crdinary intercourse of society, is a Memory for
detached and insulated &cts ; and it is certain that those men
who are possessed <^ it i^e very seldom distinguished by the
higher gi^ of the mind. Such a q)e(»e8 of Memory is mt*
favorable to philosophical anungement; because it in part sup-
plies the place of arrangement. One great use <£ philosophy,
as I already showed, is to give as an extensive comnmnd of
particaiar truths, by foraiskiag us with general principles, under
which a number of suck truths is oom{»eheDded« A person in
vrfaeae mind casual associations of time and place make a lasting
impression, 1ms not the same indlneements to philosophize, with
others, who connect £icts together chiefly by the relations of
cattse 9ak^ effect, o/c of premises and condusion. I iiave hbm
it observed, that those men who have ris^i to the greatest emi-
neikce in the proife^ion of law, have been, in general, such as
liaid at first an aversion to the study^ The reason probably isi
tluii to a mind fimd of general principles, every study must be

28

826 imcosT.

at ftnt disgnstiiigy winch presento to it a diaos of fiiete af^iar-
entlj unconnected with each other. But this Iotb of arrange-
ment, if nnited with perserering indnstiyi will at last conqner
eyeiy difficolly ; will introduce order into what seemed, on a
superficial view, a mass of confusion, and reduce the drj and
uninteresting detail of positiye statutes into a system oom-
paratiyelj luminous and beantifbL

The observation, I belieye, may be made more general, and
may be applied to eyery science in which there is a great multi-
plicity of facts to be remembered. A man destitute of genius
may, with little efibrt, treasure up in his memory a number of
particulars in chemistry or natural history, which he refers to
no principle, and from which he deduces no conclusion ; and
from his fiicility in acquiring this stock of information, may
flatter himself with the belief that he possesses a natural taste
for these branches of knowledge. But they who are really
destined to extend the boundaries of science, when they first
enter on new pursuits, feel their attention distracted, and their
Memory overloaded, with facts among which they can trace no
relation, and are sometimes apt to despair entirely of their fu-
ture progress. In due time, however, their superiority appears,
and arises in part from that very dissatisfaction which they at
first experienced, and which does not cease to stimulate their
inquiries, till they are enabled to trace, amidst a chaos of ap-
parently unconnected materials, that simplicity and beauty
which always characterize the operations of nature.

J^rusanveniencei experienced by men of genius. — There fire,
besides, other circumstances which retard the progress of a man
of genius, when he enters on a new pursuit, and which some-
times render him apparently inferior to those who are possessed
of ordinary capacity. A want of curiosity and of invention
facilitates greatly the acquisition of knowledge. It renders the
mind passive in receiving the ideas of others, and saves all the
time which might be employed in examining their foundation,
or in tracing their consequences. They who are possessed of
much acuteness and originality, enter with difficulty into the

HBMOBT. 827

views of others ; not from any defect in their power of appre-
hension, but becaase thej cannot adopt opinions which they
have not examined; and because their attention is often se«
duced bj their own speculations.

. It is not merely in the acquisition of knowledge, that a man
of genius is likely to find himself surpassed by others ; he has
commonly his information much less at command, than those
who are possessed of an inferior degree of originality ; and,
what is somewhat remarkable, he has it least of all at command
on those subjects on which he has found his invention most fer-
tile. Sir Isaac Newton, as we are told by Dr. Pemberton, was
often at a loss, when the conversation turned on his own discov-
eries. It is probable that they made but a slight impression on
his mind, and that a consciousness of his inventive powers pre-
vented him from taking much puns to treasure them up in his
Memory. Men of little ingenuity seldom forget the ideas they
acquire ; because they know, that, when an occasion occurs for '
applying their knowledge to use, they must trust to Memory and
not to invention. Explain an arithmetical rule to a person of
common understanding, who is unacquainted with the principles
of the science ; he will soon get the rule by heart, and become
dexterous in the application of it Another, of more ingenuity,
vnll examine the principle of the rule before he applies it to
use, and will scarcely take the trouble to commit to Memory a
process which he knows he can, at any time, with a little re-
flection, recover. The consequence will be, that, hi the practice
of calculation, he will appear more slow and hesitating, than if
be followed the received rules of arithmetic without reflection
or reasoning.

Prompt recollection may "he mistaken for readiness of (^jpre^
hension, — Something of the same kind happens every day in
conversation. By far the greater part of the opinions we an
nounce in it, are not the immediate result of reasoning on the
spot, but have been previously formed in the closet, or, perhaps,
have been adopted implicitly on the authority of others. The
promptitude, therefore, with which a man decides in ordinary
discourse, is not a certain test of the quickness <^ his appre*

bcatims^ •• at toMj, perittps, wtnm fron tboM ttiKOUBioii
•flforCa te fanuflli tbe Memorj witk «eq«nd knoi^e^e) hj
wkioh ttem <^ «l9w {Mrti endeaTw to ooKpeuKte for tMr wfluift
of inyention ; while, on the odnr haadi it is pottible AaA «
eoBsci^uHiMs ^ ^rigimlitj vaf gi^ lise l» « na&tter appar-
eadj emtemttsedi bj ieii^iig Ihe persM who ^mIa it, to troet
too much to czAeniporo exertioB8.t

What Isind ^ JmBW^^f^ ntrt^jf tfOsofiysMnet wyfb^nl ytiiiti:^ «^>
Li fOttenJi I MieT«^ it vomj be kid dowm as m, nie, «iinl tkose
who Qony dbovt wkk tkcm a great degrse of «oq«irei tefor*
BMtioBi which lliej iiat« alwaT* at oouuaand, imt who baTe res*
dered their own disooFoies eo fitmaiar to Iheia, 4m 9kmLj% to ha
ia a ooadilioii to eiplain theni) without irecnileciioa) ^tre Tery
(wldoiB poweated of atiich inYeatio% or «vea of laaoh tfaftekiAOBi
of appFeheasioii. A bum of original geniut) wiio is f«ad of
ecerdwg hU reasoaing powers aanw on o^rory poiat as ftoocMS
to iuai* and who eanoot saboiit to i^iearsa the ideas of others,
or to repeat bj lote the oonciasioaa wbkh be has dedaoed Iboai
previoas reiectioii,ofteai appears, to sapericaal observers, to 6fl
below the level of oidiaary vndentandings^ wlfile anether)
destitate both of quicktnss a&d i&vaatftott, is admnod Ibr that
proBiptttade in his decisions, which arises 6om tho ioferiority of
his kitellectiial abilities.

It rniMl^ ladeed, bo acknowMgol ia &Tor of «b% last deaci^

O «» M^morift fkcitprompti ingieiiS Aa&ftm, tit (!l& qtisB dicimns, non dome
aMafisM» lei ibi ^pmtinM MimpsisM TMesnar.** [K good Memoij giyes
ooe « repv^atiMi for qwokaeis of iatelltot; tfbr wbat we sajr s^poHs imS
to hare been brought with us from home, bat to be strack oot npoA die
ipot] — Qainct Intt, Orat. lib. si. c. 2.

t In the foregoing observations, it is not meant to be implied, that
originality of genius is incompatible "Srlth a ready recollection of acquired
kaowledge ; bat only that it bat a tien>Aes«y an&vorable to it, and tibat more
tiiBM and practice mil connonlj be neoessarf to fiuniliarite the aiiad
of a man of invention to the ideas oi others^ or even to the conclvnons of
his own understanding, than are requisite in ordinary cases. Habits of
litenoy conversation, and still more, habits of extempore discussion in a
popaltt assembly, are peculiarly useful in giving us a readj and practical
lof oar tosootolgo^

tkm of men, that in ordiiuuy oonveraatioii, thej form the most
agreeable, and, perhaps, the most instructive companions. How
inexhaustible soever the invention of an individual may be, the
variety of his own peculiar ideas can bear no proportion to the
whole mass of useful and curious information of which the
world is already poeaessed. The oottv^csation, accordingly, of
men of genius, is sometimes extremely limited ; and is inter-
esting to the few alone^ whot kww thft lalue, and who can dis-
tinguish the marks, of originality. In consequence, too, of that
partiality ^dkidi eimry Bum fe^ for bi» owa speenkiliMM, tiiey
«re wore in daaget oi bmg dkigmalkal! aad di»pstetioa% thaa
those who have no system which they ar» interested to dsfondL.
The same observatioiis may he appfied to anlkfkift. A bosk
whath contakis the discovenes o^ one individMil only, may he
acknired by a fow, whQ arci intimaftd|y aoquMBled wiih the hi»-
tory of the seiesee to whieh it relates, hut it has Httle ciMWMe
Imp pqpQkrity with the mukitmiew An anthor who possesses
industry suflkaent to coUeet the ideas of eAers^ aad jod^gmealt
aiiffieieiit te arrange them ^itfiilly, is the most likely pessoa to
acquire a hi^ ilegree ef literary fome ; and ahhongh^ ia the
epiaiott e£ enlightened judges, inventioD fonns tiie chief ekarae>
teiist^ of genkis, yet it oosunonly happois^ that Ae oljecte of
ptthKe admiration are men who are mudi less distinguished by '
tlua quality, than by extendve learaiog and enkivaled taster
Perhaps, tee, for the multitude, the latter class of autiiers ktiM
aoost usefol; as their writings contain the more sehd disevreries
irhieh ethers have brought ta light, separated from these eirora
with which tralh k often blended in the first formatioa of a
system*

28«

MO nciLonrAnos.

CHAPTBE VII.

OF DCAGINATIOir.

L Jnafyiii of JSnoffinatian. — In attempting to draw thfl
line between eoneeptum and imaginaiiimf 1 have akeadj ob-
perved, that the provinee of the former is to present ns with <m
€xaei trameripi of what we have farmerfy fe& and perceived;
that of the hitter, to make a edecHan of quaUHee and ofcireum-
eianeee from a variety of different objects, and by eomhining and
diepoting iheee^ to form a new ereation of tie own.

According to the definitions adopted in general hj modem
philosophersi the province of imagination would appear to be
limited to objects of eight ^ It is the sense of sight,** says Ifr.
Addison, ^ which furnishes the imagination with its ideas ; so
that, by the pleasures of imagination, I here mean such as arise
from visible objects, either when we have them actually in view,
or when we call up their ideas into our minds by paintings,
statues, descriptions, or any the like occasions. We cannot, in-
deed, have a single image in the fiincy, that did not make its
first entrance through the sight" Agreeably to the same view
of the subject, Dr. Beid observes, that ^ imagination properly
signifies a lively conception of objects of tight; the former
power being distinguished from the latter, as a part fit>m the
whole.**

Lnagination not limited to objects of eight. — That this limit-
ation of the province of ima^ation to one particular class of
our perceptions is altogether arbitrary, seems to me to be evi-
dent ; for, although the greater part of the materials which
imagination combines be supplied by this sense, it is neverthe-
less indisputable, that our other perceptive faculties also con-
tribute occasionally their share. How many pleasing images

. ncAGiHATipir. 331

baTe been borrowed from ^efragranee c£ ^e fields and the md*
otfy'of the groves ; not to mention that sister art^ whose magical
influence over the human frame it has been, in all ages, the
highest boast of poetry to celebrate ! In the following passage,
even the more gross sensations of taste form the subject of an
ideal repast, on which it is impossible not tojdwell with some
oomplacencj, particularly after a perusal of the preceding lines,
in which the poet describes ^ the wonders of the torrid zone."

** Bear me, Pomona I to thy citron groves ;
To where the lemon and the piercing lime.
With the deep orange, glowing thro' the green.
Their lighter glories blend. Lay me reclined
Beneath the spreading tamarind that shakes,
Fann'd by the breeze, its feyer-cooUng froit :
Or, stretdi'd amid these orchards of the son,
O let me drain the cocoa's milky bowl.
More bounteous far than all the frantic juice
Which Bacchus pours 1 Nor, on its slender twigs
Low bending, be the full pomegranate scom'd ;
Kor, creeping thro' the woods, the gelid race
Of berries. Oft in humbler station dwells
Unboastfnl worth, abore fiistidious pomp.
Witness thou, best Anana, thou the pride
Of yegetable life, beyond whate'er
The poets imaged in the golden age :
Qfiick let me strip thee of thy spiny coat.
Spread thy ambrosial stores, and feast with Jore I '^

Tbomsok.

What an assemblage of other conceptions, different from all
those hitherto mentioned, has the genius of Yirg^ combined in
one distich I

Hie gelidi fbntes, hie mollia prata, Lycori,
Hie *iemus : hie ipso tecum consumerer »ro.

Inagifuaion not Umtted even to the sensible world. — These
observations are sufficient to show how inadequate a notion
of the province of imagination (considered even in its reference
to the sensible world) is conveyed by the definitions of Mr.
Addison and of Dr. Beid. But the sensible world, it must be
remembered, is not the only field where imagination exerts her

tolwrfondagliaDd; diTenifyiiig iafiBltely the vovka sIm pi«-
dnoea^ wliile the node «f her opention remidBS ceceiitMJly obi-
Ibim* Ae ii k the Mune power <^ xeMooing whidi eaasiaAss m
to eucTj on oar iDTestigetione whh respect t» indiTidnal objeete^
and with reepee^ to chksaes or goiera ; so it was bj the seme
proeeaaee of eaalysie and cnmhination, that the genias o£ MiltaD
produced the goxdem of Edem, that of Harringtoo, tin commmf
vfeakh of Oceana^ and that of Shakspeare, the characters of
HaniM and Falttt^^ The difference between these several
efforts of inTOAtion, eensiata oalj ia the manner in which the
original matmak were acquired ; as £sff as the power of imagi-
nation is concerned, the processes are perfectly' analogous.

But imaginations of visible objects are most pleasing. — The
attempts of Mr. Addison and of Dr. Beid to liout ^e province
of imagination to ohjeets ef si^t^ have pfaanLj proceeded from
a verj important fact, which it maj be worth while to illustrate
more particularly. Tliat the mind has a greater facility, and
of consequence, a greater delight, in recalfing the perceptions
of this sense than those of anQr of the others v while at the same
time, the yarietiea of qualities perceiYod bjr it ia incomparablj
greater. It is this sense, accordingly, which suf^lies the painter
and the statuary with aU the subjects on which their genius is
exercised, and which ftimishes to the descriptive poet the
largest and the most jraluable portion of the materials which he
combines. Ixi that absurd species of prose compositioiv too,
which borders on poetry, nothing is more remarkable than th,Q
predominance of phrases that recall to the memory glaring
colors, and those splendid appearances of nature which make a
strong impression on the eye. It has been mentioned by dif-
ferent writers, as a characteristical circumstance in the Oriental
or Asiaitc style, that the greater part of the Daets^or^ are
taken from the celestial hiawnariee. ^ The works of th^ Per««
iians,'* says M. de Voltaire, « are like the titles of their k»^
in which we «re perpetuaBy da««led with the smi and tlw
moon," Sur WUliam Jones^ in a short Kssay on theFoetryof
£astem Nations,, haa endeavored tK> sho^w^ theJi thi^ is iM^t owing

ncAaiHATioir. 838

to the bad taste of the Asiatics, but to the old Lmgnage and
popular religion of their coontry. Bat the troth .is, that the
▼erj same criticism will be found to applj to the juvenile pro*
ductions of every author possessed of a warm imagination, and
to the compositions of every people among whom a cultivated
and philosophical taste has not established a sufficiently marked
distinction between the appropriate styles of poetry and of
prose.

Agreeably to these principles, Gray, in describing the infiin«
tine reveries of poetical genius, has fixed, with exquisite judg-
ment, on this class of our conceptions : —

" Yet oft before his infimt eye would ran
Sach forms as glitter in the Muse's nj
With orient hues "

From these remarks, it may be easily understood, why the
word imaginationj in its most ordinary acceptation, should be
applied to cases where our conceptions are derived from the
sense of sight ; although the province of this power be, in fact,
as unlimited as the sphere of human enjoyment and of human
thought Hence the origin of those partial definitions which*I
have been attempting to correct; and hence, too, the origin
of the word imaginaiion; the etymology of which implies
manifestly a reference to visible objects.

To all the various modes in which imagination may display
itseli^ the greater part of the remarks contained in this chapter
will be found to apply, under proper limitations ; but, in order
to render the subject more obvious to the reader's examination,
I shall, in the further prosecution of it, endeavor to convey my
ideas rather by means of particular examples, than in the form
of general principles ; leaving it to his own judgment to deter-
mine, with what modifications the conclusions to which we are
led may be extended to other combinations of circumstances.

Among the innumerable phenomena which this part of our
constitution presents to our examination, the combinations which
the mind forms out of materials supplied by the power of concep- .
tion recommend themselves stiongly, both by their simplicity^

•84 QKAC^QVATIOOfl.

•ad by tim inteKevtime n^tar^ of the 4isci»i»Qiia. to y^axh thq
lead. I sbaJl ayail myself, tb^refore, «3 much as possible^ in
the foUowki^ inquiriesy of whatever iUue^ratioBft I am able tQ
borrow from the arts of j^oetry and of painiing^; the operations
of imagination in tliese arts furnishing the most intelli^le and
pleaaing exemplifications of the intellectual processes, by wlncb*
in those analogous but less pa^>able instances that fallujsder the
consideration of the moralist, the mind deviates from the models
presented to it by experience, and forms to itself new and un-
tried objects of pursuit. It is in consequence of such processes,
(which, how little soever they may be attended to, are habitually
passing in the thoughts of all men,) that human affairs exhibit
80 busy and so various a scene ; t^iding, hi one case, to im-
provement, and, in another, to decline ; according as our notions
of excellence and of happiness are just or erroneous.

What pawtn^ of the mini are. inobided in imaginofHoi^^^ It
was observed in a former part of this wprl^ that imagjaatiw »
a complex power. It ineludea cam^p/ion if^simpie apprehcnrian,^
which enables us to form a notion of those former objects of per*
eeptioa or of knowledge, out o( which we are to make a sc^lec^
tibn ; ^brtradumy which separates the selected materials from
the qualities and ciroumstanoes which aro ccmnected with them
in nature ; and j^dgmevti or toiU^ whic^h selects the QiaterialSy
and directs their combinaJbion« To these powers^ we may ^jU*
that particular habit of associatioo to which I formerly gave, the
name oi fancy; as it is this wbioh present to our <^oice ^
the different materials which are subservient to the elTorts; o£
imagination, and wluch mc^, thereforei be considered as.fo9n»iQf
the groundwork of poetical genius**

* [Stewart's analysis of imagisatioii, as &r aa it goes, agrcM widi that
of Cousin ; but tke latter writer ad<ifl, that a Uutiy $en9Sn^, to ^ <^aao^o«#
of taste is ^so an essential element in t^ ^xercis^ of the imaginatiye
£Eu:alty, After enumerating, as Stewart has ^one, conc^Oion, (or the image-
forming memory, as Cousin calls it,) ahstractiorif and judgment in forming
new combinations, as powers included under this feculty, he asks, ** But
is not imagination something more than these t If a man should remenb-
b«rall the images of the past, and ohould usitft tQ thift grosft vwvyvfj a

Ibiliaiftrale Hkftm tUMmmJtaom, lei us eoMlder lb* Bl^f» hy
wiudb MUtoo most hxwt proceeded m ereatiii§> lus nMig^mmfj^
j/mrdm of JBden. When be ibrst proposed to Umself ihat snlh
ject q£ descrtptioiiy it ift reasonable to suppose, that a yarielT^ ef
the most striking scenes which he bad seen crowded lato bis
sodad. The associatioo ef ideas suggested them, and the power
of conceptioB placed each <^ them before him, with aU its beai^

p«frer of vobMitMBj abstraction, and & cfaoiea among all HhA nateiialft cf
bis espeiieeciB, wmU hfi, i^MXvtor^^ ba andowed with, the vnaikt^ facnl^ $
I thiok Qot. The phUosophen from whom I borrow this theory seam to
me to hare omitted one of the main elements which make ap the function
of imagination : this is, the judgment and the feeling of the beautiful, — «
tbe pure lore wUdi ought to aid the work of the iBtenect and tbemem^
QKj^aad t» inftueils ewa warmib lata bath af than. To semaaribap, ta
ahsCraisfc»asd ta aembmak ia aet to have imaginatioa; if inwaia so» ibe
QoalmaihematlciaD, wbp goes on from one deduction to. another, ao4 fvom
one theorem to another, ought to be considered an artist. Whether my
memory calb up spontaneously objects with their fbrms, or whether,
by the force of my will, I call them up myself, and when these images
am evobed, thaugb I baTa Ae power ol abstsaeiin^ tern, and oomblaing
tbem anew, -^ in all this» I sea nothing but BMBnvc»ry and reasaa* JkA is
U with reason audi menmry akme, tiiat you witt make a Michael Angelp
or a Raphael ? Would it be enough for Comeille to remember the his-
torical &cts, and to combine them artistically, in order to make his tragedy
of Ibe Horatii 9 Besides a great memorf and a paweiCh) intellect, tbera
was. needed fot these great man a mcaaasa of eothnsiasm, of love -p^aaS
tbat vulgar ]qv>» wych. defoada oa physical sensibility -^ but tba poxa ami
disinterested lone which we have denominated the sentiment of the
beautiful. . . «. Men are very nearly equal to each othejr in respect to
memory, reason, and will; but they possess in very unequal degrees the
power of imaginatioifr ; becausfr some of tbem remain cold and unaffBcted
la preseaae of tbs objects,, cold Ibi thoxamembsaaea of tbem, cold la tbair
abstractioaa aad eombmaJEifma ; whila othass, deeply toubshed at the sighs
of beauty, presenro» through the operations of memory and the Yoluntary
combination of images, the same Yivaclty of emotion, the same warmth of
sentiment.^' — Du Vrai, du Beau, et du Bien,

On the other hand. Sir Wtlliam Hamilton, hi renarbiag on- the dbctrtna
of tha bicompatU>ility of crealaiM imaginalioB aad philosophical tabai^ as
liM hj Hame* Kan^^aad Bmd„ says, " Them is iaq«iMd,hawa¥ar»fcHr tfaa
m<tAphysician».not lesa imagination than for the poet, thoug;h. of a differeal
kind ; it may, in £Eu;t, be doubted whether Homer or Aristotle pof aessad
this fiunilty in greater vigor.'*— iV'^Xeg to lteidJ\

SS6 ncjLODiATioir.

ties and imperfections. In every natanl scene, if we destine it
Amt any particiilar porpose, there are defects and redondancies.
wliich art may sometimesy but cannot always, correct Bat the
power of imagination b unlimited. She can create and annihi-
late, and dispose, at pleasure, her woods, her rocks, and her
rivers. Milton, accordingly, would not copy his Eden firom any
one scene, but would select from each the features which were
most eminently beautifuL The power of abstraction enabled
him to make the separation, and taste directed him in the selec-
tion. Thus he was famished with his materials ; by a skilful
combination of which, he has created a landscape, more perfect,
probably, in all its parts, than was ever realized in nature ; and
certainly very difibrent from any thing which this country ex*
hibited at the period when he wrote. It is a curious remark of
Mr. Walpole, that Milton's Eden is free from the defects of the
old Eng^h garden, and is imagined on the same principles
which it was reserved for the present age to carry into execu-
tion.

From what has been said, it is sufficiently evident, that
imag^tion is not a simple power of the mind, like attention,
conception, or abstraction ; but that it is formed by a oombina^
tion of various faculties. It is further evident, that it must ap-
pear under very differeid formiy in the ease of differefd individ-
uals; as some of its component parts are liable to be greatly
influenced by habit, and other accidental circumstances. The
variety, for example, of the materials out of which the combina-
tions of the poet or the painter are formed, will depend much
on the tendency of external situation to store the mind with a
multiplicity of conceptions ; and the beauty of these combina-
tions will depend entirely on the success with which the power
of taste has been cultivated. What we call, therefore, the
power of inuiffinatiany is not the gift of nature^ hut the result of
aapiired habitSj aided by fiivorable circumstances. It is not an
original endowment of the mind, but an accomplishment formed
by experience and situation ; and which, in its diflferent grada-
tions, fills up all the interval between the first efforts of untu-
tored genius, and the sublime creations of Baphael or of Miltoo.

nCAGINATIOV. 837

An ancommon degree of imagination constitutes poetical
femus ; a talent which, although chiefly displayed in poetical
composition, is also the foundation (though not precisely in the
same manner) of various other arts. A few remarks on the
relation which imagination bears to some of the most interesting
of these, will throw additional light on its nature and office.

II. Of imagination considered in its relation to some of the
fine arts, — Among the arts connected with imagination, soms
not only take their rise from this power, but produce objects
which are addressed to it Others take their rise from imagina"
tion, but produce objects which are addressed to the power of
perception,

{I. y Landscape gardening. — To the latter of these two
classes of arts belongs that of gardening; or, as it has been
lately called, the art of creating landscape. In this art, the
designer is limited in his creation by nature ; and his only prov-
ince is to correct, to improve, and to adorn. As he cannot
repeat his experiments, in order to observe the effect, he must
call up, in his imagination, the scene which he means to pro-
duce ; and apply to his imaginary scene his taste and his judg-
ment; or, in other words, to a lively conception of visible ob-
jects, he must add a power (which long experience and attentive
observation alone can give him) of judging beforehand, of the
effect which they would produce, if they were actually exhibited
to his senses. This power forms what Lord Chatham beauti-
fully and expressively called the prophetic eye of Taste ; that
eye which (if I may borrow the language of Mr. Gray) " sees
all the beauties that a place is susceptible of, long before they
are bom ; and when it plants a seedling, already sits under the
shade oX. it, and enjoys the effect it will have from every point
of view that lies in the prospect" But although the artist who
creates a landscape copies it from his imagination, the* scene
which he exhibits is addressed to the senses, and may produce its
full effect on the minds of others, without any effort on 'their
part, either of imagination or of conception.

To prevent being misunderstood, it is necessary for me to re-
mark, that, in the last observation, I speak merely of the natural

29

838 nuBioiAtiwf.

efibcta produced bj n hwnfaieapf^ and aikwlnict em&eefy from the
pleasure which maj resok fvora aa amdeatal assoels^ioD of
ideas with a parlieular scene. The cffieet resnltkig from sooh
amociatioBs wiU depend, in a great lasasiire, on the liTelinees
with which the associated objeeta are cenceiTed, and on th^
affecting nature of the pictures which a creatiye imaginaticHi,
when once roused, will present to the mind ; bat the pleasures
thus arising from the aocidentail exercise that a landscape may
give to the imagination, must n^ be co-founded, with those
which it is natorallj fitted to produce.

(2.) JPainting^-^ln paiatmg, (exciting in those instances in
which it exhibits a faithful copj of a particular Qt^teet,) the
mgiaal idea must be fonned in the imagiaati^m ; and^ in most
eases, the exercise of imajfinattam tmy»t concur ut'A p$rcq^i(my
before the picture can produce that effect on the miad of the
spectator which the artist has in view. Fkintuig, Ukerefore, does
not belong eatirelj to either of the two classes of arts formerly
mentioned, but iias something in ctNnmoo with them both.

As far as the painter aims at copyii^ exactly what he sees,
he may be guided mechanically by general rules ; and he requires
no aid from that creative genius whieh is characteristlcftl of tb«
poet. The pleasure, however, which results from painting, con-
sidered merely as an imitative art, is extremely trifling ^ and ia
specifically different from that wUk^ it aims to produce bj
awaking the imagination^ Even in poKrait^painting, the servile
copyist of nature is regarded in no hi^er light than tha^ of a
tradesman. '< Deception,'' as Reynolds has exceBentlj observed^
•^ instead of advancing the art, is, in realitj carrying i^ back to
its infant state. The first essays of painting were eejrtaialj
nothing but m^re imitationa of individual oli^qt^;. and when thia
amounted to a deception, the artist haid aeeomj^hedt Im puir
pofle,**

When the history or the landsccqpe pamter indulges his genloi
in forming new combinations of his ewn^ hie vies with the poet
in the noblest exertion of the poetical, art ; fmA he avails him*
rielf of his professional skill, as the poet avails him^lf of Ian*
guage^ only to convey the ideaa in his mind To di.-celve Hm

eye hj aocuarate repf^sentadcHis of pardcnlar ferns, is ao loiter
bis aim ; but, by tbe touches of an expressive pencil, to speak
to the imaginations of others. hniuaioHj therefore, is not the
end which he proposes to himself, hd <^ mfions which he em-
ploys in. order to accomplish it ; n»y> if the imitation be carried
so far as to preclude all exercise of the spectator's iisaaginatioa,
it will disappoint, in a great n^asure, the purpose of the artist.
(3.) Poetry. — In poetry, and in every other species of com-
position, in which one perscm attempts, by meaas of language,
to present to tbe mind of another the objects of his own imagina-
tion, this power is necessary, though not in the same degree^ to
the author and to the reader. When we peruse a description,
we naturally feel a disposition to form, in our own. minds, a dis»-
tinct picture of what is described; and iv^ proportion to tbe
attention and interest which the. subject ex^cites, the pkture
becomes steady and determine. It is scarcely possible fosr us
to hear much of a particulatr town without forming some notion
of its figure and size and situation ; and ist reading history and
poetry, I believe it seldom happens that we do not annex in.agt
nary appearances to the names of our favorite characters, h
is, at the same time, almost certain, that the imaginations oi no
two men coincide upon such occasions ;. and, therefore, though
both may be pleased, the agreeable impressions which they feel^
may be widely different from each other, according as th^. pir
tures by which they are produced are more or less happily
inoagined. Hence it is, that when a person accustomed to \
dramatic reading sees, for the first time, one of his favorite \
characters represented on the stagey ho m g^eraljty dissatisfied \
with the exhibition, however eminent the aolpr vmy be \ and if \
he should happen, before this representation^ to have bee» v«ry
familiarly acquainted with the oha^raoter, the case may continuA
to be the same through life. For my own part, I have never
received from any Falstaff on the staige half the pleasure which
Shakspeare gives me in the closet ; and I am persuaded that I
ehould feel some degree of uneasiness, if I were preset at any
attempt to personate the figure or the voioe oi Don Quixote oi
Sancho Fanza. It is not always that tb^ aetor^ on such occa*

S40 nCAGIHATIOV.

•ioii0| fiJIa short of oar expectation. He disappoints us, bj
exhibiting something different from what our imagination had
anticipated, and which consequently appears to us, at the mo-
ment, to be an unfaithful representation of the poet's idea ; and
until a frequent repetition of the performance has completely
obliterated our former impressions, it is impossible for us to form
an adequate estimate of its merit

Similar observations may be applied to other subjects. The
sight of any natural scene, or of any work of art, provided we
have not previously heard of it, commonly produces a greater
effect at first, than ever ailerwards : but i^ in consequence of a
description, we have been led to form a previous notion of it, I
i^prehend, the effect will be found less pleasing the first time
it is seen, than the second. Although the description should
ftll short greatly of the reality, yet the disappointment which
we feel, on meeting with something different from what we ex-
pected, diminishes our satisfaction. The second time we see
the scene, the effect of novelty is, indeed, less than before ; but
it is still considerable, and the imagination now anticipates
nothing which is not realized in the perception.

Wh^ poetry is not io generaUy relished as landscape gcarden-
ing, — The remarks which have been made, afford a satisfactory
reason why so few are to be found who have a genuine relish
for the beauties of poetry. The designs of Kent and of Brown
[distinguished landscape gardeners] evince in their authors a
degree of imagination entirely analogous to that of the descrip-
tive poet; but when they are once executed, their beauties
(excepting those which result from association) meet the eye of
; every spectator. In poetry, the effect is inconsiderable, unless
. upon a mind which possesses some degree of the author's gen-
ius ; a mind amply furnished, by its previous habits, with the
means of interpreting the language which he employs; and
able, by its own imagination, to cooperate with the efforts of his
art

Different ideas raised hy the same words in different minds. —
It has been often remarked, that the general words which ex-
press complex ideas, seldom convey precisely the same meaning

Ml

to dil^nl indiTidttfilB^ and tliaA lieDoo mnatm mmh of the ambi-
guilyoflangaage^ The same obaerratiQii holds^ m bo kiomiiid-
eraUe degree, with xespeet to the names of sena&le oligects.
When the woirds riTer, mountain^ gioYe, occur in a descriptk»y
a person of Urely ooneeptLoDB natoraUy thinks of sraie partico-
]ar riyer, monntaiiv and groTe, that haTO made an unpresaioa
on his mind ; and whatever the nations arey which he is led bj
his imagination to form of these objects^ thej must neeessariiy
approach to the standard of what he has seen. Hence k is cti-
dent that^ according to the cfiffiurent halttts and edneatioii of la-
dividuals, according to the Uveliness of their ocmceptioDSy and
according to the ereative power of their UBagiaations^ the same
words will prodnee veiy different effects on dUferait aiinda.
When a person who has reedred his education in the coaatrj,
reads a description of a rural retirement, the house, the riy^,
the woods, to which he was first accustomed, present themsdyes
apontaneoiisly to his conception, accompanied, perhaps, ^vnth the
recollection of his earij friendships, and aH those pleasing ideas
which are commonly associated with the scenes of childhood
and of jouth. How difibrent is the effect of the description
upon his mind, from what it would produce on one who has
passed his tender years at a distance from the beauties ef na-
ture, and whose in£mt sports are connected in hia memorj with
the gloomy alleys of a commercial city I

But it ia not only in interpreting the paitiealar words ef a
description, that the powers of imagination and conception are
employed. They are further necessary for filling up the differ^
ent parts of that picture, of whidi the most nunute deseriber can
only trace the outline. In the heat description, there is much
left to the reader to supply ; and the effect which it produces on
his mind will depend, in a considerable degree, on the invention
and taste with which the picture is finished. It is therefore
possible, on the one hand, that the happiest eiSahs of poetical
genius may be perused with perfect indifference by a man of
sound judgment, and not destitute of natural a^isihility; and on
the other hand, thai a cold and eonttion*plaoe descriptioa may

29*

342 ncAOiHATioir.

be the means of awakening, in a rich and glowing imaginaiion,
a degree of enthusiasm unknown to the author.

7^ ofy'eei of attthe fne oris is to please. — All the different
arts, which I have hitherto mentioned as taking their rise from
the imagination, have this in common, that their primary object
is to please. This observation applies to the art of poetry, no
less than to the others ; nay, it is this drcumstance which char-
acterizes poetry, and distinguishes it from all the other classes
of literary composition. The object of the philosopher is to in-
form and enlighten mankind ; that of the orator, to acquire an
ascendant over the will of others, by bending to his own pur-
poses their judgments, their imaginations, and their passions :
but the primary and the .distinguishing aim of the poet is, to
please ; and the principal resource which he possesses for this
purpose, is by addressing the imagination. Sometimes, indeed,
he may seem to encroach on the province of the philosopher or
of the orator; but, in these instances,. he only borrows fix»n
them the means by which he accomplishes his end. If he at-
tempts to enlighten and to inform, he addresses the understand-
ing only as a vehicle of pleasure ; if he makes an appeal to the
passions, it is only to passions which it is pleasing to indulge.
The philosopher, in like manner, in order to accomplish his end
of instruction, may find it expedient, occasionally, to amuse the
imagination, or to make an appeal to the passions ; the orator
may, at one time, state to his hearers a process of reasoning ; at
another, a calm narrative of facts ; and at a third, he may give
the reins to poetical fancy. But still the ultimate end of the
philosopher is io instruct, and of the author to persuade ; and
whatever means they make use of which are not subservient to
this purpose, are out of place, and obstruct the effect of their
labors.

Why rhythmical language is employed. — The measured com-
position in which the poet expresses himself, is only one of the
means which he employs to please. As the delight which he
conveys to the imagination is heightened by the oUier agreeable
impressions, which he can unite in the mind at the same time ;

lUoiNATioir. 3*13

he studies to bestow, npon.tho medium of communication which
he employs, all the various beauties of which it is susceptible.
Among these beauties, the hannonj of numbers is not the least
powerful ; for its effect is constant, and does not interfere with
any of the other pleasures which language produces. A suc-
cession of agreeable perceptions is kept up bj the organical
effect of words upon the ear ; while they inform the understand-
ing by their perspicuity and precision, or please the imagination
by the pictures they suggest, or touch the heart by the associa-
tions they awaken. Of all these charms of language the poet
may avail himself; and they are all so many instruments of his
art To the philosopher and the orator, they may occasianaUy
be of use ; and to both, they must be constantly so far an object
of attention, that nothing may occur in their compositions, which
may distract the thoughts, by offending either the ear or the
taste; but the poet must not. rest satisfied with this negative
praise. Pleasure is the end of his art ; and the more numerous
the sources of it which he can open, the greater will be the effect
produced by the efforts of his genius*

Poetry has a wider range than the other fine arts. — The prov-
ince of the poet is limited only by the variety of human enjoy-
ments. Whatever is, in the reality, subservient to our happinSss,
is a source of pleasure when presented to our conceptions, and
may sometimes derive from the heightenings of imagination a
momentary charm, which we exchange with reluctance for the
substantial gratification of the senses. The province of the
painter and of the statuary is confined to the imitation of visible
objects, and to the exhibition of such intellectifal and moral
qualities, as the human body is fitted to express. In ornamen-
tal architecture, and in ornamental gardening, the sole aim of
the artist is to ^ve pleasure to the eye, by the beauty or sub-
limity of material forms. But to the poet, all the glories of ex-
ternal nature ; all that is amiable, or interesting, or respectable
in human character ; all that excites and engages our benevo-
lent affections ; all those truths which make the heart feel itself
better and more happy ; — all these supply materials, out of whi'^
he forms and peoples a world of his own, where no incouven-

844 IMJkOVKATlQn.

ienoes damp onr tmjojmmxla^ wbA whore no cfcrnda daxken oar
prospects.

Edmund BmWi ^tmrf of foehyi tlUifid md eimbrevewted^^
That the pleasurea of poeirj ariae ehieily from the agreciablQ
feelings which it eoBTej9 to the mmd, hy awakening the imag-
ination, is a propositioii which may scma loo obYioua to stand
in need of proof. As the ingenioiia inquirer^ however, into
«the Origin of our Ideas of the Sablimeand Beautiful,'' [Ed-
mand Burke,] has disputed the common notions on this subject,
I shall consider some of the prindpal argumeotft by which ho
has supported his opinion.

The leading priacipk of the theory whiob I am now to ex*
amine is, ^ That (4e eimmum ngtci »fpi>«^ if not Iq PoiM Mfeoi
Qf things;** or, as I would rather ehoose to express it,, ita eoift*
mon efieet is not to give exercise to the powers of eoneeptioa
and imagination. That I may not be accused of misr^resen*
tation, I shall state the doctrine at length in the w<^s of tbe
author. ^ If words have all tbekr possible extent of power,
three effects arise in the mind of the hearer^ The first is the
S9umd, the second, the picture or representation c^ the thii^ sig-
Bified by the sound, the third is, the ^^jffe^ion of the seal pro-
duced by one or by both of the foregoing. Con^unded ah*
stract words, (A^nor, justice^ Ukerty^ and the hke,) prodiiee the
first and the last of these effects, but not the seeondu Simple
abstracts are used to signify some cMoe simple ideia^ without much
advert]]^ to others whieh may chance to attend it; «» hh^
green, k&ty eoldy and the likes these are ci^lde of aiSfoclJiB^ all
three of the 'purposes of words ; ad the aggr^^at^ words,. M<m,
easde, harse^ etc. are, in a yet higher degree.. But I am. ef e§^
ion, that the most general effect even of these word& dioea not
arise from their forming pictures of the general things they
would represe&t in the imagination; becausey on a very diligent
examination of my own nund, and getting others to eonsiileir
theirs, I do not find that, onee in twenty times,. aAy sueh picture
is formed ; and when it is, there is most commonly a paartic«lar
effort of the imagination for that purpose^ But the a^regate
wor(k ^leratey as .1 said of the eompound ahstcacta^ not by pi«r

IMAOIHATIOVk 849

renting ftnj imssge to the mkid, hmi hf havings from U8e> tlM
same effect on being mentianedy that their t^igtoal has when it
is 9een, Suppose we were t« re^ a passage to this effect :
' The liver Danube rises m a moist and mouotainoiis soil in the
heart of Grermaaj, where» winding to and fro, it waters several
princifMtlitieSy untile turning into Austria, and leaving the waib
oi Vienna, it passes into Hui^gaty ; ther^ With a vast ilood, aug*
mented bjr the Saave and the Drave^ it quits Christendom, and,
rolling through the barbarous countries which border on Tar*
taiy, it enters bj oiaa^ mouths into the Blac^ Sea.' In this de*-
soriptioD^ many thh^ are aaentioned ; as mountains, rivers, dt^
ies, the sea, eta But let anybody examine himself, and see
whether he has had impressed on his imagination any pictures
of a river, mountain, watery soil, Germany, etc Indeed, it is
im.possible, in the rapidity and quick succession of w(»ds in con-
Tcrsation, to have ideas both ^ the sound of the word, and of
the thing represented ; besides, s<Mne words expressing real es-
sences are so mixed with others of a genend and nominal im»
port, that it is impracticable to jump from sense to thought, from
particulars to genends, from things to words, in such a manner
as to answer the purposes of life ; nor is it necessary that we
should."

In further confirmation of this doctrine, Mr. Burke refers to
the poetical works of the hite amiable and ingenious Dr. Black*
lock [the blind poet]. *^Ifere" says he, ^m a poet, doukless <a
much ^ffeeUd by hit own deocriptknu iu any that reads them tan
he; and yet he is aifected with this strong enthusiasm, by things
oi which he ndther has, nor can possiUy have, any idea, further
than that of a hive sound ; and why may not those who read
Lis works be affirated in the same manner tiiat he was, with as
liitle of any real ideas of the things described?"

Some wofd» do not rmse idra^ te onfy excite €moft*oii». *-- Be-
£»re I proceed to make any remaiks on these passages^ I must
observe in gen^ul, that I perfect]|y agree with Mr« Burke, in
thinking that a very great proportion of the words which we
habitually employ, have no effect to raise ideas in the mind ; or
to exercise the powero ef ^neeptiou and inaginatioa. My o^

846 nt^OINATIOK.

tlons OD UjIs subject I hare already saffidenHy explained in
treating of abtiiraeiwn,

I agree with him further, that a great proportion of the words
which are used in poetry and eloquence, more especially, I think,
in the latter, produce very powerful effects on the mind, by ex-
citing emotions which we have been accustomed to associate
with particular sounds, without leading the imagination to form
to itself any pictures or representations ; and his account of the
manner in which such w<Nrds operate, appears to me satisfactorj.
^ Such words are, in reality, but mere sounds ; but they are
sounds, which, being used on particular occasions, wherein we
receive some good, or suffer some eyil ; or see others affected
with good or evil ; or which we, hear applied to other interesting
things or eyents ; and being applied in such a variety of cases
that we know readily by habit to what things they belong, thej
produce in the mind, whenever they are afterwards mentioned,
effects similar to those of their occasions. The sounds being
often used without reference to any particular occasion, and
carrying still their first impressions, they at last utterly lose
their connection with the particular occasions that gave rise to
them ; yet the sound, without any annexed notion, continues to
operate as before."

But wards in poetry mtut raise emotions and ideas also. —
Notwithstanding, however, these concessions, I cannot admit that
it is in this way poetry produces its principal effect. Whence
is it that general and abstract expressions are so tame and life-
less,.in comparison of those which are particular and figurative?
Is it not because the former do not give any exercise to the im*
agination, like the latter? Whence the distinction, acknowl-
edged by aU critics ancient and modern, between that charm <^
words which evaporates in the process of translation, and those
permanent beauties, which, presenting to the mind the distinct*
ness of a picture, may impart pleasure to the most remote re*
gions and ages ? Is it not, that in the one case, the poet ad-
dresses himself to associations which are local and temporary;
in the other, to those essential principles of human nature, from
which poetry and painting derive their common attractions^

niAOINA.TIOK. 347

Hence, among the various sources* of the sublime, the peculiar
stress laid by Longinus on what he calls Visians, {^camioia/) ^

Tolc uKoOaiv, [when jou seem, from enthusiasm and strong feehn^
actually to see the things spoken of, and to place them before
the eyes of your hearers.]

Different aims of pkilasophteal and rhetorical composition. —
In treating of abstraction, I formerly remarked, that the perfec*
tion of philosophical style is to approach as nearly as possible
to that species of language we employ in algebra, and to exclude
every expression which has a tendency to divert the attention by
exciting the imagination, or to bias the judgment by casual
associations. For this purpose, the philosopher ought to be
sparing in the employment of figurative words, and to convey
his notions by general terms which have been accurately defined.
To the orator, on the other hand, when he wishes to prevent the
cool exercise of the understanding, it may, on the same account,
be frequently useful to delight or to agitate his hearers, by
blending with his res^onings the illusions of poetry, or the magi-
cal influence of sounds consecrated by popular feelings. A
regard to the different ends thus aimed at in philosophical and
in rhetorical composition, renders the ornaments which are so
becoming in the one, inconsistent with good taste and good sense
when adopted in the other.

In poetry, as truths and facts are introduced, not for the pur-
pose of information, but to convey pleasure to the mind, nothing
offends more, than those general expressions which form the
great instrument of philosophical reasoning. The original
pleasures, which it is the aim of poetry to recall to the mind,
are aU derived from individual objects ; and, of consequence,
(with a very few exceptions, which it does not belong to my
present subject to enumerate,) the more particular and the more
appropriated its language is, the greater will be the charm it pos-

With respect to the description of the course of the Danube
already quoted, I shall not dispute the result of the experiment
to be as the author represents it. That words may often be

843 IMA.011U.TIOV*

applied to their proper piuposet) without oar antiexiiig «fi^
particular notions to them^ I ItftFe fenaerlj shown at great
length ; and I admil that the fnoafting of this description may
be fto understood. But to be understood is not the sole object
of the poet; his primaty ol^ject is to please; and the pleasure
which he conveys will, in general, be found to be proportioned
to the beauty and liv^ineSs «f the images which he suggests.
In the case of a poet bom l^iod, the efieot of poetiy must
depend on other causes i but whatever opinion we may form on
this point, it appears to itte impossible that such a poet should
receive^ even from his own descriptions, the same degree of
pleasure which they may convey to « reader who is capable of
conceiving the scenes which are described. Indeed, this instance
which Mr. Burke produces in support of his theory, is sufficient
of itself to show, that the theory cannot be true in the ext^it in
which it is stated.

Great effect of picturesque f^wxuieciogy in poetry — By way
of contrast to the description of the Danube, I shall quote a
stanza fvooL Gray, which afiTords a very beautiful e:cample of
the two different effects of poetical expression. The pleasure
conveyed by the two last lines resolves almost entirely into Mr.
Burke's principles ( but great as this pleasure is, how inoonsider*
able is it, in comparison of that arising from the continued and
varied exercise which the preceding lines give to the imagina-
iioB.

"* lift clim«8 beyond the Bdlar Toad,
Where shmggy forms o'ef ice4)ailt Mouattins roloai.
The Muse has broke the twil^hl^loom.
To cheer the shivering aatiye's dull abode.
And oft, beneath the od'nhis shade
Of Chili's boundless forests laid,
She de!]g^8 to hear the sava^ yotith repeat.
In ioos« nambert wildly sweiet,
Their featber^inctar'd ohirfs «nd dasky iottts.
Her track, where'er the goddess royes.
Glory pursne, and generous shame,
Th' unconquerable mind, and freedom's holj flame."

I cannot help remarking further, the efeet of Ihe solemn and

IMAGIirATIOK. 349

uniform flow of the verse in this exquisite stanza, in retarding
the pronunciation of the reader, so as to arrest his attention to
every successive picture, tiU it has time to produce its proper
impression. More of the charm of poetical rhjthm arises from
this circumstance, than is commonly imagined.

To those who wish to study the theory of poetical expression,
no author in our language affords a richer variety of illustra-
tions than the poet last quoted. His merits, in many other
respects, are great; but his skill in this particular is more
peculiarly conspicuous. How much he had made the principles
of this branch of his art an object c^ study, appears from his
letters published by Mr. Mascm.

I have sometimes thought, that, in the last line of the follow-
ing passage, he had in view the two different effects of words
already described ; the effect of some, in awakening the powers
of conception and imagination ; and that of others, in exciting
associated emotions : —

" Hark, his hands the lyre explore !
Bright^y'd Fancy, hovering o'er,
Scatters from her pictnr'd urn
Thoaghts that breathe, and words that bum."

m. Relation of imoffinaHan and of tdste to genius, — From
the remarks made in the foregoing sections, it is obvious, in what
manner a person accustomed to analyze and combine his con-
ceptions, may acquire an idea of beauties superior to any
which he has seen realized. It may also be easily inferred, that
a habit of forming such intellectual combinations, and of remark-
ing their effects on our own minds, must ccmtribute to refine and
to exalt the taste, to a degree which it never can attain in those
men, who study to improve it by the observation and comparison
of external objects only.

WhcU constitutes genius in the fine arts, — A cultivated taste,
combined with a creative imagination, constitutes genius in the
fine arts. Without taste, imaginaticm could produce only a
random analysis and combination of our conceptions ; and with-
out imagination, taste would be destitute of the fisiculty of
invention. These two ingredients of genius may be mixed

30

850 ZMAOINATIOK.

together in all possible proportions ; and where either is pos*
sessed in a degree remarkably exceeding what falls to the
ordinary share of mankind, it may compensate, in some measure,
for a deficiency in the other. An uncommonly correct taste,
with little imagination, if it does not produce works which excite
admiration, produces at least nothing which can offend. An
uncommon fertility of imagination, eyen when it offends, excites
our wonder by its creative power ; and shows what it could
have performed, had its exertions been guided by a more perfect
modeL

In the infancy of the arts, a union of these two powers in the
flame mind is necessary for the production of every work of
genius. Taste, without imagination, is, in such a sitoiUion, im-
possible ; for, as there are no monuments of ancient genius on
which it can be formed, it must be the result of experiments,
which nothing but the imagination of every individual can enable
him to make. Such a taste must necessarily be imperfect, in
consequence of the limited experience of which it is the result ;
but, without imagination, it could not have been acquired even
in this imperfect degree.

In the progress of the arts, the case comes to be altered.
The productions of genius accumulate to such an extent, that
taste may be formed by a careful study (^ the works of others ;
and, as formerly imagination had served as a necessary founda-
tion for taste, so taste begins now to invade the province of
imagination. The combinations which the latter &culty has
been employed in making, during a long succession of ages,
approach to infinity; and present such ample materiab to a
judicious selection, that, with a high standard of excellence
continually present to the thoughts, industry, assisted by the
most moderate degree of imagination, will, in time, produce per-
formances not only more free- from faults, but incomparably
more powerful in their effects, than the most original efforts of
untutored genius, which, guided by an uncultivated taste, copies
after an inferior model of perfection. What Reynolds observes
of painting, may be applied to all the other fine arts; that ^ as
*h» painter, by bringing together, in one piece, those beauties^

IMAGINATION. 851

which arf3 dispersed amongst a great variety of individuals, pro-
duces a figure more beautiful than can be found in nature ; so
that artist who can unite in himself the excellences of the various
painters, will approach nearer to perfection than any of his
masters."

IV. Of the influence of imagincOion on human character and
happiness. — Hitherto we have considered the power of imagi-
nation chielly as it is connected with the fine arts. But it
deserves our attention still more, on account of its extensive
influence on human character and happiness.

The lower animals, as far as we are able to judge, are
entirely occupied with the objects of their present perceptions ;
and the case is nearly the same with the inferior orders of our
own species. One of the principal effects which a liberal edu-
cation produces on the mind, is, to accustom us to withdraw our
attention from the objects of sense, and to direct it at pleasure
to those intellectual combinations which delight the imagination.
Even, however, among men of cultivated understandings, this
faculty is possessed in very unequal degrees by different indi-
viduals ; and these differences (whether resulting from original
constitution or from early education) lay the foundation of some
striking varieties in human character.

Sensibility dependent on imagination, — What we commonly
call sensibility depends in a great measure on the power of
imagination. Point out to two men any object of compassion ; —
a man, for example, reduced by misfortune from easy circum-
stances to indigence. The one feels merely in proportion to
-what he perceives by his senses. The other follows, in imagi-
nation, the unfortunate man to his dwelling, and partakes with
him and his family in their domestic distresses. He listens to
their conversation, while they recall to remembrance the flatter-
ing prospects they once indulged; the circle of friends they
bad been forced to leave ; the liberal plans of education which
ijvere begun and interrupted ; and pictures out to himself all the
-various resources which delicacy and pride suggest to conceal
poverty flrom the world. As he proceeds in the painting, his

M8 DIAOINATIOlfk

MDsibilitj increasesy and he weepB, not for what he sees^ but for
what he imaginea. It will be said that it waa Ua sensifailitj
which originallj toased hia imagination ; and the observation is
undoubtedly true $ but il is equally evideat, on the other hand,
that the warmth of his imagination increases and prolongs hia
sensibility.

This is beautifully illustrated in the Seatunental Journey of
Sterne. While engaged in a train of reieetiims ea the stato-
prisons in France, the accidental sight of a starling in a cage
suggests to him the idea of a captive in his dungeon. He in-
dulges his imagination, ^ and looks through the twilight of the
grated door to take the picture."

<< I beheld," says he^ ^^his body half wasted away with long
expectation and confinement, and felt what kind of sickness of
the heart it is, which arises from hope deferred. Upon looking
nearer, I saw him pale and feverish : in thirty years, the western
breeze had not once fanned his blood : he had seen no sun, no
moon, in all that time, nor had the voice of friend or kinsman
breathed through his lattice. His children — But here my
heart began to bleed, and I was Ibrced to go on with another
part of the portrait.

^ He was sitting upon the ground, in the furthest comer of
his dungeon, on a little straw, which was alternately hia chair
and bed : a little calendar of small sticks was laid at the head,
notched aU over with the dismal days and nights he had passed
there ; he had one of these little stieka in his hand, and with a
rusty nail, was etching another day of misery to add to the hea^
As I darkened the little light he had, he lifted up a hopeless
eye towards the door, then cast it down, shook his head, and
went on Mrith his work <^ afflictioa."

Why pity u excited by JicHou mon than by reol^.*- The
foregoing observations may account, in part, for the effect which
exhibitions of fictitious distress produce on some persons, who
do not discover much sensibility to the distresses of real life.
In a novel or a tragedy, the picture is completely finished in all
its parts ; and we are made acquainted not only wkh every eii^

txAonrjknoir. 353

^mmstanoe en ^rMdi the distreiB tamiy Iwt with the sefitimenls
md ^sdings of every ehaaraetery with rei^eci 4o hk sHuaticii.
In real Itfe, weftee^in general^ ^nljr detached soeaeB of the trag-
edy; and the impression k slight onless imagination finisheB
the characters, and supplies the incidents that are wanting.

Imaginati/on iTicreaset ctur sj/mpathy wiik 4>thers. — It is not
only to scenes oi distress that imagination increases our sensi-
bility. It gi^s tts a double share in the prosperity of others,
and enables ns to perfeej^e with a more Mrely interest in every
fortunate incident that occurs either to tadividuals or to ocmmu*-
nities. Even from the productions q£ the earth and the vicissi-
tudes of the year, it carries forward ow ^loughts to the enjoy-
ments they bring to the senskive creation, and by interesting
our benevolent affections in the scenes we behdid, lends a new
charm to the beauties of nature.

I have often been inclined to think, thnt the apparent coldness
and selfishness of mankind may be traced, in a great measure,
to a want of attention and a want of imagination. In the case
of misfortunes which happen to ourselves, or to our near oon-
nections, neither of these powers is necessary to make us ao-
quainted with our situation : so that we feel, of neoesaty, the
coirespondent emotions. But without an uncommon degree <^
l)Oth, it is impossible for any man to comprehend completely ^e
situation of his neighbor, or to have an idea of a great part of
the distress which exists in the world. If we feel, therefore^
xnore for ourselves than for others, the diflSsrence is to be as-
.cribed, at least partly, to this; that, in the former case, tlia
facts which are the foundation of our feelings, are more folly
before us than they posdHy can be in the latter.

In order to prevent misapprehensions of my meanmg, it it
necessary for me to add, that I do not mean to deny that it is a
law of our nature, in cases in which there is an interference be-
tween our own interest and that of other men, to give a certain
degree of preference to ourBclves ; even saj^posing our neigh«
bor's situation to be as completely known to us as our own. I
only affirm, that^ wh^ie this preference becomes blamable and
unjust, the eflfeet k t« be aocountod for partly in the way I men*

80*

884 nciiOnrATiov.

tioaed.* One striking proof of this is, the powerful emotians
which may be occasionallj excited in the minds of the most cal-
louSy when the attention has been once fixed, and the imagina-
tion awakened by eloquent^ and circumstantial, and pathetic de-
scription.

Adam Smith traces the eeme of justice to a regard for the
opinion of others, — A very amiable and profound moralist, in
the account which he has given of the origin of our sense of
justice, has, I think, drawn a less pleasing picture of the natural
constitution of the human mind, than is agreeable to truth. ^ To
disturb," says he, ^ the happiness of our neighbor, merely be-
cause it stands in the way of our own ; to take from him what
is of real use to him, merely because it may be of equal or of
more use to us ; or, to indulge, in this manner, at the expense
of other people, the natural preference which every man has ft>r
his own happiness above that of other people, is what no impar-
tial spectator can go along with. Every man is, no doubt, first
and prindpaUy recommended to his own care ; and as he is
fitter to take care of himself than of any other person, it is fit
and right that it should be so. Every man, therefore, is much
more deeply interested in whatever immediately concerns him-
self, than in what concerns any other man ; and to hear, per-
haps, of the death of another person with whom we have no
particular connection, mil give us less concern, will spoil our
stomach, or break our rest, much less than a very insignificant
disaster which has befallen ourselves. But though the ruin of
our neighbor may afiect us much less than a very small misfor-
tune of our own, we must not ruin him to prevent that small
misfortune, nor even to prevent our own ruin. We must here,
as in all other cases, view ourselves not so much according to that
light in which we may naturally appear to ourselves, as according
to that in which we naturally appear to others. Though every
man may, according to the proverb, be the whole world to him
sel^ to the rest of mankind he is a most insignificant part of it

* I say pairibf; for habits of inattention to the sitnation of other
andoubtedly presuppose some defect in the social affections.

IMAGINATION. 855

Though bis own happiness may be of more importance to him
than that of all the world besides, to every other person it is of
no more consequence than that of any other man. Though it
may be true, therefore, that every individual, in his own breast,
naturally prefers himself to all mankind, yet he dares not look
mankind in the face, and avow that he acts according to this
principle. He feels that, in this preference, they can never go
along with him, and that, how natural soever it may be to him,
it must always appear excessive and extravagant to them.
When he views himself in the light in which he is conscious
that others will view him, he sees that, to them, he is but one of
the multitude, in no respect better than any other in it If he
would act so as that the impartial spectator may enter into the
principles of his conduct, which is what of all things he has the
greatest desire to do, he must, upon this, as upon all other occa-
sions, humble the arrogance of his self-love, and bring it down
to something which other men can go along with."

Hits theory controverted ; benevolent feding independent of the
opinion of others. — I am ready to acknowledge, that there is
much truth in this passage ; and that a prudential regard to the
opinion of others, might teach a man of good sense, without the
aid of more amiable motives, to conceal his unreasonable par-
tialities in favor of himself, and to act agreeably to what he con-
ceives to be the sentiments of impartial spectators. But I can-
not help thinking, that the fact is much too strongly stated with
respect to the natural partiality of self-love, supposing the situa-
tion of our neighbors to be as completely presented to our view,
as our own must of necessity be. When the orator wishes to
combat the selfish passions of his audience, and to rouse them
to a sense of what they owe to mankind, what mode of per-
suasion does nature dictate to him ? Is it, to remind them of the
importance of the good opinion of the world, and of the neces-
sity, in order to obtain it, of accommodating their conduct to
the sentiments of others, rather than to their own feelings?
Such considerations undoubtedly might, with some men, produce
a certain effect ; and might lead them to assume the appearance

856 IVACHKATIOV.

of virtue ; Vot they would never esdte a sentiment of mdigna*
lion at the thought of injustice^ or a sudden and involuntary
burst of disinterested affecdon. If the orator can only succeed
in fixing their attention to &ctSy and in bringing these &cta
home to their imagination by the power of his eloquence, he has
completely attained his object. No sooner are the facts l^>pre-
hended, than the benevolent principles of our nature display
themselves in all their beauty. The most cautions and timid
lose, for a moment, all thought of themselves, and despising
every consideration of prudence or of safety, become wholly en-
grossed with the fortunes of others.

Many other facts, which are commonly alleged as proofs of
the original selfishness of mankind, may be explained^ in part,
in a similar way ; and may be traced to habits of inattention, or
to a want of imagination, arising, probably, from some fault in
early education.

What has now been remarked with respect to the social prin-
ciples, may be applied to all our other passions, excepting those
which take their rise from the body. They are commonly strong
in proportion to the warmth and vigor of the imagination.

Unexercised imag%naHon$f when &nee twised^ become un^jvem-
able. — It is, however, extremely curious, that when an imagi-
nation, which is naturally phlegmatic, or which, like those of the
vulgar, has little activity from a want of culture, is fairly roused
by the descriptions of the orator or the poet, it is more apt to
produce the vi<dence of enthusiasm, than in minds of a superior
order. By giving this faculty occasional exercise, we acquire a
great degree of command over it. As we can withdraw the
attrition at pleasure from objects of sense, and transport our-
selves into a world of our own^ so^ when we wish to moderate
our enthusiasm, we can dismiss the objects of imagination, and
return to our ordinary perceptions and occupations. But in a
mind to which these intellectual visions are not familiar, and
which borrows them completely fix)m the genius of another, im-
agination, when once excited, becomes perfectly ungovernable,
and produces something like a tQmp<»*aTy insanity* Hence tha

IHA.QTNATION. 357

wonderfal effects of popular eloquence on the lower orders ;
effects which are much more remarkable than what it ever pro-
duces on men of education.*

y. ^ofweniences retuUingfram an iU-regtdated imagination,
— It was undoubtedly the intention of nature, that the objects
of perception should produce much stronger impressions on the
mind than its own operations. And, accordingly, they always
do so, when proper care has been taken in early life to exercise
the different principles of our constitution. But it is possible,
by long habits of solitary reflection, to reverse this order of
things, and to weaken the attention to sensible objects to so
great a degree, as to leave the conduct almost wholly under the
influence of imagination. Removed to a distance from society,
and from the pursuits of life, when we have long been accus-
tomed to converse with our own thoughts, and have found our
activity gratified by intellectual exertions, which afford scope to
all our powers and affections, without exposing us to the incon-
veniences resulting from the bustle of the world, we are apt to
contract an unnatural predilection for meditation, and to lose all
interest in external occurrences. In such a situation, too, the
mind gradually loses that command which education, when
properly conducted, gives it over the train of its ideas, till at
length, the most extravagant dreams of imagination acquire as
powerful an infiuence in exciting all its passions, as if they were
realities. A wild and mountainous country, which presents but
a limited variety of objects, and these only of such a sort as
^ awake to solemn thought," has a remarkable effect in cherish-
ing this enthusiasm.

Remedies for a disordered imagination. — When such disor-
ders of the imagination have been long confirmed by habit, the
evil may, perhaps, be beyond a remedy ; but in their inferior

* " The province of eloquence is to reign over minds of tlow perception
and Uttk imagination ; to set things in lights they never saw them in ; to
engage their attention bj details and circnmstances gradually unfolded ;
to adorn and heighten them with images and colors unknown to them ;
and to raise and engage their rude passions to the point to which the
speaker wishes to bring them." — Grojf'a Letters, p. 394.

858 IMAOINATIOir.

degrees, much may be expected fran our owb efforts ; Id par-
ticular, from mingling gradually in the business and amusements
of the world ; or, if we have sufficient force of mind for the
exertion, from rescdutely plunging into those active and interest-
ing and hazardous scenes, which, by compelling us to attend to
external circumstances, may weaken the impressions of imagina-
tion, and strengthen those produced by realities. The advice
of the poet, in these cases, is equally beautiful and just : —

*' Go, soft enthttsiast ! quit the cyprew groTOB,
Nor to the rivulet's lonely moanings tnne
Tour sad complaint Go, seek the cheerfol haants
Of men, and mingle with the bnstling crowd ;
Lay schemes for wealth, or power, or fame, the wish
Of nobler minds, and push them night and day.
Or join the caravan in quest <^ scenes
New to jovLT eyes, and shifting every hour.
Beyond the Alps, beyond the Apennines.
Or, more adventurous, rush into the field
Where war grows hot ; and raging through the sky.
The lofty trumpet swells the madd'ning soul ;
And in the hardy camp and toilsome mardiy
Forget all softer and less manly cares."

AllMSTRONa.

Connection between genius and melanchofy, — The disordered
state of mind to which these observations refer, is the more inter-
esting, that it is chiefly incident to men cf uncommon sensibilitry
and genius« It has been often remarked^ that there is a connection
between genius and melancholy ; and there is one sense of the
word melancholy, in which the remaii^ is undoubtedly true ; a
sense which it may be difficult to define, but in which it implies
nothing either gloomy or malevolent This, I think, is not only
confirmed by &cts, but may be inferred from some principles
which were formerly stated oa the sul^ect of invention ; for as
the disposition now alluded to has a tendency to retard the cur-
rent of thought, and to collect the attention of the mind, it is
peculiarly favorable to the discovery of those profound conda-
sions which result from an accurate examination of the leas
obvious relations among our ideas. From the same principles,
too, may be traced some of the effects which situation and earW

iMJLomATioir. 359

education produee on tiw inteUbotud cbtfaeter. Among the
natives of wild and soUtarj countries, we may expect to meet
with sublime exertions of poetical imagination and of philo-
sophical research ; while those men whose attention has been
dissipated from infancy amidst the bustle <^ the world, and
whose current of t^ioiight has been tx^ined to jield and accommo-
date itself every moment, to the rapid snocession of trifles,
which diversify fashionable life, acquire, without any e£R)rt on
their part, the inteliectual habits which are fiivorable to gay^y,
vivacity, and wit.

Very imagtnaiive persons mcnf appear almost inMtiM. — When
a man, under the katHtnal influence of a warm ima^nation, is
obliged to min^ occasionally in scenes of real business, he is
perpetually in danger of being mialed by his own endmsiaun.
What we caU ffood sense in the coodact. of hie, eoinists chiefly
in that temper of mind which enables its possessor to view, at
all times, with perfect coolness and accumcy, all tiie various cir-
cumstances of has situation, so that eaiA. of them may produce
its due impression on him, withont any exaggeration arising from
its own peculiar habits. But to a man of an ill-reguhited
imagination, external drcumstaaoes only serve as hints to excite
his own thoiighta, and the conduct he porsoes has, in general, far
less reference to his real situatiDn, than to some imagmary one ,
in which he conceives hknself to be placed; in eonseqoence oi
which, while he appears to himself to be acting with the most
perfect wisdom and consistenoy, he may frequently exhibit lo
others all the appearances of folly. Such, ;»«tty nearly, seems
to be the idea whidi the anthor (Madame de Stael Holst^n) of
the ^ Reflections on the Character and Writings «f Boussean,"
has formed of that extraordinary man. ^ EEis l&onlties,'' we are
told, ^ were slow in their operation, but his heart was ardent ; it
was in consequence of ins own meditations that he became im-
passioned; he discovered no sudden emotions, but all his feelings
grew upon reflection. It has, perhaps, happened to him to fi^
in love gradmdly with a woman, by dw^ing on the idea of her
during her absence. Sometimes he would part with you with
all his former affection; but if an expressimi had escaped you.

880 mAGiHATnnr.

whidb might bear an unfitvorable constniction, lie would recol-
lect it, examine it, exaggerate it, perhaps dwell upon it for a
month, and conclude by a total breach with jou. Hence it was
that there was scarce a possibility of undeceiving him ; for the
light which broke in upon him at once was not sufficient to
efface the wrong impressions which had taken place so gradually
in his mind. It was extremely difficult, too, to continue long
on an intimate footing with him. A word, a .gesture, furnished
him with matter of profound meditation ; he connected the most
trifling circumstances like so many mathematical propositions,
and conceived his conclusions to be supported by the evidence
of demonstration." ** I believe,'' continues this ingenious writer,
^ that imagination was the strongest of his faculties, and that it
had almost absorbed all the rest. He dreamed rather than
existed, and the events of his life might be said, more properly
to have passed in his mind, than without him ; a mode of being,
one should have thought, that ought to have secured him from
distrust, as it prevented him from observation ; but the truth
was, it did not hinder him from attempting to observe ; it only
rendered his observations erroneous. That his soul was tender,
no one can doubt, after having read his works ; but his imagina-
tion sometimes interposed between his reason and his affections,
and destroyed their influence : he appeared sometimes void of
sensibility ; but it was because he did not perceive objects such
as they were. Had he seen them with our eyes, his heart
would have been more affected than ours."

In this very striking description, we see the melancholy picture
of sensibility and genius approaching to insanity. It is a case,
probably, that but rarely occurs in the extent here described ;
but, I believe, there is no man who has lived much in the world,
who will not trace many resembling features to it, in the circle
of his own acquaintances ; perhaps there are few who have not
been occasionally conscious of some resemblance to it in them-
selves.

JkRstqkei in judgment resvUingfrom an iU^egukUed imoffina-
I turn, — To these observations we may add, that, by an excessive
, indulgence in the pleasures of imagination, the taste may a^jquire

^

nCAOINATION. 861

a fastidious refinement, unsuitable to tbe |>resent situation of {
human nature ; and those intellectual and moral habits, which
ought to be formed bj actual experience of the world, may be
gradually so accommodated to the dreams of poetry and romance,
as to disqualify us for the scene in which we are destined to act.
Such a distempered state of the mind is an endless source of
error ; more particularly when we are placed in those critical
situations, in which our conduct determines our future happiness
or misery ; and which, on account of this extensive influence
on human life, form the principal groundwork of fictitious com-
position. The effect of novels, in misleading the passions of
youth, with respect to the most interesting and important of all
relations, is one of the many instances of the inconveniences
resulting from an ill-regulated imagination.

The passion of love has been in every age the favorite sub-
ject of the poets, and has given birth to the finest productions
of human genius. These are the natural delight of the young
and susceptible, long before the influence of the passions is felt ;
and from these a romantic mind forms to itself an ideal model
af beauty and perfection, and becomes enamored with its own
creation. On a heart which has been long accustomed to be
thus warmed by the imagination, the excellences of real charac-
ters make but a slight impression ; and, accordingly, it will be
found, that men of a romantic turn, unless when under the in-
fluence of violent passions, are seldom attached to a particular*
object Where, indeed, such a turn is united with a warmth
of temperament, the effects are different ; but they are equally
fatal to happiness. As the distinctions which exist among real
characters are confounded by false and exaggerated conceptions
of ideal perfection, the choice is directed to some object by
caprice and accident ; a slight resemblance is mistaken for an
exact coincidence ; and the descriptions of the poet and novelist
are applied literally to an individual, who perhaps falls short of
the common standard of excellence. *' I am certain,'' says the
iauthor last quoted, in her account of the character of Rousseau,
^ that he never formed an attachment which was not founded on
caprice. It was illusions alone that could captivate liis pas-
Si

noDs; and it was neoeBBflfiry ftr him always to accomplish his
mistiess from his own fimcj. I am certam, also,'' she addU,
^ that the woman whom he loved the most, aad p^haps the only
wmnan whom he loved coostantlj, was his own Julie.'*

In the case of this particular passion, the effects of a rcHoantic
imagination are obvious to the most careless observer ; and the j
have often led moralists to regret^ that a temper of mind so
dangerous to happiness should have received so much encourage-
ment from some writers of our own age, who might have em-
ployed their genius to better purposes. These, however, are
not the only effects which such habits <^ study have on the
character. Some others, which are not so apparent at first view,
have a tendency, not only to mislead us where our own hapfii-
ness is at stake, but to defeat the operation of those active prin-
ciples, which were intended to unite us to society. The manner
in which imagination influences the mind, in the instances which
I allude to at present, is cmious, and deserves a more particular
explanatioAi

On what owr capacity of moral improvement is JimndeeL — I
diall have occasion afterwards to show,* in treating q£ our moral

* The following reasomng was snggested to me by a passage in Butiei^s
Analogy, ** Going over the theory of virtae in one's thoughts, talking w^
and drawing fine pictures of it, this is so far from necessarily or certsdnly
^ conducing to form a habit of it in him who thus employs himself, that it may
harden the mind in a contrary course, and render it gradually more insensi
ble, t. «. form a habit of insensibility to all moral obligations. For, from.
our Tery faculty of habits, passive impressions, by being repeated, igrow
weaker. Thoughts, by often pasai^ through the mind, are felt leas sensi-
bly ; being accustomed to danger, begets mtrepidity, t. e, lessens fear ; to
distress, lessens the passion of pity ; to Instances of others' mortality, les-
sens the sensible apprehension of our own. And from these two observa
tions together, Ihact practical habits are Jbrmed and ttrengtiiened &y repeaied
acts ; and that passioe impressions grmo weaker &y being repeated vpon w; it
must follow, that active habits may be gradually forming and strengthemag
by a course of acting upon such and such motives and excitements, while
these motives and excitements themselves are, by proportionable degrees,
growing less sensible, t. e. are continually less and less sensibly felt, even as
the active habits strengthen. And experience confirms this ; for active prin-
eiples, at the very time they are less Hvely in perception tlian they were.

IMAOINATIOH; d68

powers, that experimee dimimskes the injhtenee of pamvt imr
pressums on the mindy hut ttrengtiiens our active principles. A
coarse of debauchery deadens the sense of pleasure, but in-
creases the desire of gratification. An immoderate use of strong
liquors destroys the sensibility of the palate, but strengthens the
habits of intemperance. The enjoyments we derive from any
favorite pursuit gradually decay as we advance in years ; and
yet we continue to prosecute our favorite pursuits with increas-
ing steadiness and vigor.

On these two laws of our nature is founded our capacity of
moral improvement. In proportion as we are accustomed to
obey our sense of duty, the influence of the temptations to vice
is diminished; while, at the same time, our habit of virtuous
conduct is confirmed. How many passive impressions, for in-
stance, must be overcome, before the virtue of beneficence can
exert itself uniformly and habitually I How many circumstances
are there in the distresses of others, which have a tendency to
alienate our hearts from them, and which prompt us to withdraw
from the sight of the miserable I The impressions we receive
from these are unfavorable to virtue; their force, however,
every day diminishes, and it may, perhaps, by perseverance, be

are found to be, somehow, wrought more thoroughly into the temper and
character, and become more effectual in influencing our practice. The
three things just mentioned may afford instances of it. Perception of
danger is a natural excitement of passive fear and active cantion ; and by
being inured to danger, habits of the latter are gradually wrought, M the
same time that the former gradually lessens. Perception of distress in
others, is a natural excitement passively to pity, and actively to relieve it ;
but let a man set himself to attend to, inquire out, and relieve distressed
persons, and he cannot but grow less and less sensibly affected with the
various miseries of life with which he must become acquainted ; when yet,
at the same time, benevolence, considered not as a passion, but as a practi-
cal principle of action, will strengthen ; and whilst he passively oompas-
sionates the distressed less, he will acquire a grssater aptitude actively to
assist and befriend them. So, also, at the same time that the daily in-
stances of men's dying around us, give us daily a less sensible passive
feeling or apprehension of our own mortality, such instances greatly con-
tribute to the strengthening a practical regard of it in serious men; t. «. to
forming a habit of acting with a constant view to it."

864 IXAOINATIOK.

wboHj destroyed. Tt is thus lihat the character of the beneficent
man is formed. The passive impressions which he felt origin-
ally, and which counteracted his sense of duty, have lost their
influence, and a habit of beneficence is become part of his
nature.

Habits of benevolence male tip for the lose of quick sympor
ikies, — It must be owned, that this reasoning may, in part, be
retorted ; for among those passive impressions, which are weak-
ened by repetition, there are some which have a beneficial
tendency. The uneasiness, in particular, which the sight of
distress occasions, is a strong incentive to acts of hunumity ; and
it cannot be denied that it is lessened by experience. This
might naturally lead us to expect, that the young and unprac-
tised would be more disposed to perform beneficent actions,
than those who are advanced in life, and who have been fiuniliar
with scenes of misery. And, in truth, the fisust would be so,
were it not that the efiect of custom on this passive impression
is counteracted by its efiects on others ; and, above all, by its
influence in strengthening the active habit of beneficence. An
old and experienced physician is less afiected by the sight of
bodily pain than a young practitioner ; but he has acquired a
more confirmed habit of assisting the sick* and helpless, and
would offer greater violence to his nature, if he should withhold
from them any relief that he has in his power to bestow. In
this case we see a beautiful provision made for our moral im-
provement, as the effects of experience on one part of our oon-
stitudon are made to counteract its effects on another.

Familiarity toiih scenes of fictitious distress is hurtfuL — If
the foregoing observations be well founded, it wiQ follow, that
habits of virtue are not to be formed in retirement, but by ming-
ling in the scenes of active life, and that an habitual attention
to exhibitions of fictitious distress, is not merely useless to the
character, but positively hurtfuL

It will not, I think, be disputed, that the frequent perusal of
pathetic compositions diminishes the uneasiness which they are
naturally fitted to excite. A person who indulges habitually in
such studies, may feel a growing desire of his usual gratificaUon,

DCAOIKATIOir. 365

but he is every daj less and less affected bj the scenes wliich
are presented to him. I believe it would be diJfficult to find an
actor long hackneyed on the stage, who is capable of being com-
pletely interested by the distresses of a tragedy. The effect of
such compositions and representations, in rendering the mind
callous to actual distress, is still greater ; for as the imagination
of the poet almost always carries him beyond truth and nature,
a familiarity with the tragic scenes which he exhibits, can hardly
fail to deaden the impression produced by the comparatively
trifling sufferings which the ordinary course of human affairs
presents to us. In real life, a provision is made for this gradual
decay of sensibility, by the proportional decay of other pas-
sive impressions, which have an opposite tendency, and by the
additional force which our active habits are daily acquiring.
Exhibitions of fictitious distress, while they produce the former
change <m the character, have no influence in producing the
latter ; on the contrary, they tend to strengthen those passive
impressions which counteract beneficence. The scenes into which
the novelist introduces us are, in general, perfectly unlike those
"which occur in the world. As his object is to please, he removes
from his descriptions every circumstance which is disgusting,
and presents us with the histories of elegant and dignified dis-
tress. It is not such scenes that human life exhibits. We have
to act, not with refined and elevated characters, but with the
mean, the illiterate, the vulgar, and the profligate. The pertisai
qfJlMiaus history has a tendency ta increase that disgust which
we naturally feel at the concomitants of distress, and to cultivate
a false refinement of taste^ inconsistent with our condition as
members of society. Nay, it is possible for this refinement to
be carried so far as to withdraw a man from the duties of life,
and even from the sight of those distresses which he might
alleviate. And, accordingly, many are to be found, who, if the
situations of romance were realized, would not fail to display the
virtues of their favorite characters, whose sense of duty is not
sufficiently strong to engage them in the humble and private
scenes of human misery.

. To these effects <^ fictitious history we may add, that it yives

81*

866 IVAOIKATIOK.

no exercise to our acHve habits. In real life, we proceed from
the passive impression to those exertions which it was intended
to produce. In the contemplation of imaginary sufferings, we
stop short at the impression, and whatever benevolent disposi*
tions we may feel, we have no opportunity of carrying them
into action.

Good and evil effects of fiction. — From these reasonings it
appears, that an habitual attention to exhibitions of fictitious
distress is, in every view, calculated to check our moral improve-
ment It diminishes that uneasiness which we feel at the sight
of distress, and which prompts us to relieve it It strengthens
that disgust which the loathsome concomitants of distress excite
in the mind, and which prompts us to avoid the sight of misery ;
while, at the same time, it has no tendency to confirm those
habits of active beneficence, without which, the best dispositions
are useless. I would not, however, be understood to disapprove
entirely of fictitious narratives, or of pathetic compositions. On
the contrary, I think that the perusal of them may be attended
with advantage, when the efiects which I have mentioned are
corrected by habits of real business. They soothe the jnind
when ruffled by the rude intercourse of society, and stealing the
attention insensibly fix)m our own cares, substitute, instead of
discontent and distress, a tender and pleasing melancholy. By
exhibitions of characters a little elevated above the commcm
standard, they have a tendency to cultivate the taste in life ; to
quicken our disgust at what is mean or offensive, and to form
the mind insensibly to elegance and dignity. Their tendency
to cultivate the powers of moral perception has never been dis-
puted ; and when the influence of such perceptions is powerfully
felt, and is united with an active and manly temper, they render
the character not only more amiable, but more happy in itself
and more usefiil to others ; for although a rectitude of judgment
with respect to conduct, and strong moral feelings, do, by no
means, alone constitute virtue ; yet they are frequently neces-
sary to direct our behaviour in the more critical situations of
life ; and they increase the interest we take in the general pros-
perity of virtue in the world. I believe, likewise, that, by

IMAGIKATIOK. 867

means of fictitious history, displays of character may be most
successfully given, and the various weaknesses of the heart ex-
posed. I only mean to insinuate, that a taste for them may be
cairied too far ; that the sensibility which terminates in imagi-
nation, is but a refined and selfish luxury ; and that nothing can
effectually advance our moral improvement, but an attention to
the active duties which belong to our stations.*

YI. LnportatU uses to which the power of imagination is sub-
servient. — The faculty of imagination is the great spring of hu-
man activity, and the principal source of human improvement.
As it delights in presenting to the mind scenes and characters
more perfect than those which we are acquainted with, it pre-
vents us from ever being completely satisfied with our present
condition, or with our past attainments ; and engages us contin-
ually in the pursuit of some untried enjoyment, or of some ideal
excellence. Hence the ardor of the selfish to better their for-
tmies, and to add to their personal accomplishments ; and hence
the zeal of the patriot and the philosc^her to advance the vir-
tue and the happiness of the human race. Destroy this faculty,
and the condition of man will become as stationary as that of
the brutes.

When the notions of enjoyment or of excellence which imag-
ination has formed, are greatly raised above the ordinary stand-
ard, they interest the passions too deeply to leave us at all times
the cool exercise of reason, and produce that state of the mind
which is commonly known by the name of enthusiasm ; a temper

* After all the concessions I hare here made in faror of snch fictitioas
histories as oar modem novels, I mast acknowledge my own partiality for
those performances of an earlier date, which describe the adventwret of im'
aginary orders of being, [The Arabian Nights' Entertainment, Fairy Tales,
etc.] Many of them afford lessonsof morality not less instractiTe than
those in oar most nnexceptionable novels ; and they possess, oyer and
above, the important advantage of giving to the imagination of yonng per>
flons a mach more vigorous exercise, while fhey have no snch tendency
as novels have to mislead them in fheir views of hnman life. In most
cases, it may be laid down as a rale, that fictitioas histories are dangerous,
in proportion wi the manners they exhibit profbss to approac'a to thoai
which we expect to meet with in the world.

t68 nCAOIKATIOV*

which ifl one of the most fimilfiil aoaroes of eiror and disappoint-
ment ; but which is a souvoe, at the same timey of heroic actions
and of exalted characters. To the exaggerated coac^tioos of
eloquence which perpetually revolved in the mind of Cicero;
to that idea which haunted his thoughts of aUquid immauum
infinitumque^ we are indebted for some of the most splendid
displays of human genius ; and it is probable that something of
the same kind has been felt by every man who has risen much
above the level of humanity, either in speculation or in actioo.
It is hstippj for the individual, when these enthusiastic de^res
are directed to events whieh do not depend on the caprice of
fortune.

Whf^ hightr kinds of poetry pleass.---' The pleasure we
receive £rom the higher kinds of poetry takes rise, in part, firam
that dissatisfaction which the objects c£ imagination inspire us
with, for the scenes, the events, and the diaracters, with which
our senses are conversant. Tired and disgusted with this wodd
of imper^tion, we delight to escape to another of the poet's
creation, where the charms of nature wear an eternal l^kKm,
and where sources of enjoyment are opened to us, suited to the
vast capacities of the human mind.* On this natural love of
poetical fiction, Lord Bacon has founded a very ii^nio«2s argu-
ment for the soul's immortality ; and, indeed, one of the most
important purposes to which it is subservient, is to elevate the
mind above the pursuits of our present condition, and to direct
the views to higher objects* In the mewi time, it is rendered

* [Poetry, sajrg Lord Bacon, ** is nothing else but feigned history, idiidi
may be styled [written] as wdi in piose as in verse. The use of ihi«
feigned history hath been, to gire some shadow of satisfaction to the mind
of man in those points wherein the nature of things doth deny it, the
world being in proportion inferior to the soul ; by reason whereof, there is
agreeable to the spirit of man a more ample greatness, a more exact good-
ness, and a more absolute Tariety, than can be found in the nature of things.
Therefore, because the acts or events of true history have not that magni
aide which satisfietfa the mind of man, poesy feigneth acts and events
greater and more heroical : because true history proponndeth the suooesses
and issues of actions not so i^greeabls to tba merits of virtoe and yve%

XMAQIKXTIOir. 869

Bubsenrient also, in an eminent degree, to the improvement and
happiness of mankind^ bj the tendency which k has to acceler-
ate the progress of sooiety.

Good ejffhcU of a tmte for poetry.-^ IkA the pictures which
the poet presents to ns are never (even in works of pure de-
scription) fiuthfiil copies fircxn nature, but are always meant to
be improvements on the original she affords, it cannot be
doubted that they must have some effect In refining and cijaudt-
ing our taste, both with respect to material beauty, and to the
objects of our pursuit in life. It has been alleged, that the
works of our descriptive poets have ccmtributed to diffuse that
taste for picturesque beauty which is so prevalent in England,
and to recall the public admiration firom the fantastic decora-
tions of art, to the more powerful and permanent charms of cul-
tivated nature ; and it is certain, that the first ardors of many an
illustrious character have been kindled by the compositi<Hi8 of
Homer and YirgiL It is difficult to say, to what a degree, in
the earlier periods of society, the rude compositions of the bard
and the minstrel may have been instrumental in humanizing the
minds of savage warriors, and in accelerating the growth of cul-
tivated manners. Among the Scandinavians and the Celtas, we
know that this order of men was held in very peculiar venera-
tion ; and, accordingly, it would appear, from the monuments
which remain of these nations, that they were distinguished by
a delicacy in the passion of love, and by a humanity and generos*

therefore poesy feigneth them more jnst in retribation, imd more nccording
to revealed providence: because true history representeth actions and
events more ordinary, and less interchanged, therefore poesy endneth them
with more rareness, and more unexpected and alternative variations : so as
it appeareth, poesy serveth and conferreth to magnanimity, morality, and
U> delectation. And therefore it was ever thought to have some partieipar
tion of divineness, because it doth raise and erect the mind, by submitting
the shows of things to the desires of the mind ; whereas reason doth buckle
and bow the mind unto the nature of things. And we see, that by these
insinuations and congruities with man's nature and pleasure, joined also
with the agreement and consort it hath widi music, it hath had access and
estimation in rude times and barbavons regions, where other leaEtninf
alood exduded."] — Advanommft ^ hmrmig. Boc^ ii.

870 niAoiKAnoK.

ity to the vanquished in wbt, which seldom appear among bar'
barons tribes ; and with which it is hardlj possible to conceive
hoifi men in such a state of societj could have been inspired,
but \}j a separate class of individuals in the oommnnitj, who
devoted themselves to the pacific profession of poetry, and to
the cultivation of that creative power of the mind, which antic-
ipates the course of human affairs, and presents, in prophetic
vision, to the poet and the philosopher, the blessings which
accompany the progress of reason and refinement.

Itnaginaiion tnuUipUes our innocent enjoyments. — Nor mast
we omit to mention the important effects of imagination, in
multiplying the sources of innocent enjoyment beyond what this
limited scene affords. Not to insist on the noble efforts of gen*
ius, which have rendered this part of our constitution subser-
vient to moral improvement, how much has the sphere of our
happiness been extended, by those agreeable fictions which
introduce us to new worlds, and make^ us acquainted with new
orders of being I What a fund of amusement, through life, is
prepared for one who reads in his childhood the fables of
ancient Greece I They dwell habitually on the memory, and
are ready, at all times, to fill up the intervab of business, or of
serious reflection; and in his hours of rural retirement and
leisure, they warm his mind with the fire of ancient genius, and
animate every scene he enters, with the offspring of classical
fancy.

Happy effect of agreeable anticipations of the ftOure. — It is,
however, chiefly in painting future scenes, that imagination
loves to indulge herself, and her prophetic dreams are ahnost
always favorable to happiness. By an erroneous education,
indeed, it is possible to render this faculty an instrument of
constant and of exquisite distress ; but, in such cases, (abstract-
ing from the influence of a constitutional melancholy,) the dis-
tresses of a gloomy imagination are to be ascribed, not to
nature, but to the force of early impressions.

The common bias of tlie mind undoubtedly is, (such is the
benevolent appointment of Providence,) to think favorably of
the future ; to overvalue the chances of possible good, and to

ncAonrATiON. 371

underrate the risk of possible evil ; and, in the case of some
fortunate individuals, this disposition remains after a thousand
disappointments. To what this bias of our nature is owing, it
is not material for us to inquire ; the fact is certain, and it is
an important one to our happiness. It supports us under the
real distresses of life, and cheers. and animates all our labors;
and although it is sometimes apt to produce, in a weak and
indolent mind, those deceitful suggestions of ambition and van-
ity, which lead us to sacrifice the duties and the comforts of the
present moment to romantic hopes and expectations; jet, it
must be acknowledged, when connected with habits of activity,
and regulated by a solid judgment, to have a favorable effect
on the character, by inspiring that ardor and enthusiasm which
both prompt to great enterprises, and are necessary to insure
their success. When such a temper is united (as it commonly
is) with pleasing notions concerning the order of the universe,
and, in particular, concerning the condition and the prospects
of man, it places our ha|)piness, in a great measure, beyond the
power of fortune. While it adds a double relish to every en-
joyment, it blunts the edge of all our su£Eerings ; and, even
when human life presents to us no object on which our hopes
can rest, it invites the imagination beyond the dark and troubled
horizon, which terminates all our earthly prospects, to wander
unconfined in the regions of futurity. A man of benevolence,
whose mind is enlarged by philosophy, will indulge the same
agreeable anticipations with respect to society; will view all
the different improvements in arts, in commerce, and in the sci-
ences, as cooperating to promote the union, the happiness, and
the virtue of mankind ; and amidst the political disorders re-
sulting from the prejudices and follies of his own times, will look
fbrward with transport to the blessings which are reserved for
posterity in a more enlightened age.

372 BSUiOH.

OHAPTEE VIII

OT BXASOK.

L On the vagumeu and fxnMguihf of the emnmon phihsopM'
cal language rdative to this part af aw eonstituHcn, — The
power of Beason, of which I am now to treal> is unquestionably
the most important by fiir of those whieh are comprehended
under the general title of intelleetuaL It is on the right use of
this power, that our success in the pursuit both of knowledge
and of happiness depends ; and it is by the exclusive possession
of it, that man is distinguished, in the most essential respects,
from the lower animals. It is, indeed, %t)m their subserviency
to its operations, that the other faculties, which have been
hitherto under our consideration, derive their chief value.

Popular meaning of the word Beason. — Some remarkable
instances of vagueness and ambiguity in the employment of
words, occur in that branch of my subject of which I am now
to treat The word Beason, itself, is far from being precise in
its meaning. In common and popular discourse, it denotes tk€d
power ky which we distinguish tmih from falsehood^ and right
from wrong ; and hg which we are enabled to combine mecaufar
the attainment of partUndar ends. Whether these different
capacities are, with strict logical propriety, referred to the same
power, is a question which I shall examine in another part of
my work ; but that they are all included in the idea which is
generally annexed to the word Reason, there can be no doubt ;
and the case, so far as I know, is the same with the correspond-
ing term in all languages whatever. The fact probably is, that
this word wAsfrst employed to comprehend the principles^ what-
ever they are, hg which man is distinguished from the brutes ;
and afterwards came to be somev hat limited in its meaning, by

ESASON. 37S

the more obyious conclusions concerning the nature of that dis«
tinction^ which present themselves to the common sense of man-
kind. It is in this enlarged meaning that it is opposed to
instinct by Pope : —

'' And reason raise o'er mstinct as yon can ;
In this 'tis God directs, in that 'tis man."

It was thus, too, that Milton plainly understood the term,
when he remarked, that smiles imply the exercise of Reason : —

" Smiles from Reason flow,

To brutes denied:"

and still more explicitly in these noble lines : —

" There wanted yet the master-work, the end

Of all yet done ; a creature Vho, not prone

And brute as other creatures, but endued

With sanctity of Reason, might erect

His stature, and upright with front serene

Govern the rest, self-knowing ; and from thence,

Magnanimous, to correspond with heaven ;

But, grateful to acknowledge whence his good

Descends, thither with heart, and voice, and eyes,
• Directed in devotion, to adore

And worship God Supreme, who made him chief

Of all hU works."

Among the various characteristics of humanity, the power of
devising means to accomplish ends, together with the power .
of distinguishing truth from falsehood, and right from wrong,
are obviously the most conspicuous and important ; and accord-
ingly it is to these that the word Beason, even in its most
Gomprefaensive acceptation, is now exclusively restricted.*

* This, I think, is the meaning which most naturally presents itself to
common readers, when the word Reason occurs in authors not affecting to
aim at any nice logical distinctions ; and it is certainly the meaning which
must be annexed to it, in some of the most serious and important argu-
ments in which it has ever been employed. In the following passage, for
example, where Mr. Locke contrasts the light of Reason with that of
Hevelation, he plainly proceeds on the supposition, that it is competent to
appeal to the former, as affording a standard of right and wrong, not less

32

874 BEAsoir.

More Umiied meaning of the word. — Bj some philoeophen,
the meaning of the word has been of late restricted still farther ;
to the power hy which we dutinguieh truth from falsehood^ ana
eombine means for the aeeon^ithmeni of our purposes; — the
capadtj of distingaishing right and wrong being referred to a
separate principle or faculty, to which different names have
been assigned in different ethical theories. The following pas
sage from Mr. Hume contains one of the most explicit state-
ments of this limitation which I can recollect: ^ Thus the dis-
tinct boundaries and offices of reason and of taste are easily
ascertained. The former conveys the knowledge of truth and
fiibehood ; the latter gives th6 sentiment of beauty and deform-
ity,— vice and virtue. Reason^ being cool and disengaged, is
no motive to action, and directs only the impulse received from
appetite or inclination, by showing us the means of attaining
happiness or avoiding misery. Taste^ as it gives pleasure or
pain, and thereby constitutes happiness or misery, becomes a
motive to action, and is the first spring or impulse to desire and
volition."

Reason distinguished from reasoning, — Another ambiguity
in the word Reason, it is of still greater consequence to point
out at' present; an ambiguity which leads us to confound our
rational powers in general, with that particular branch of them
known among logicians by the name of the discursive factdty.
The affinity between the words reason and reasoning sufficiently
accounts for this inaccuracy in common and popular language ;

than of tpeadoHve truth and fiUehood; nor can there be a doabt that,
when he speaks of tndh as the object of natural Reason, it was principally,
if not wholly, mofol truth, which he had in his view ; " Beason is natnnl
rerelation, whereby the eternal Father of Light, and fountain of all knowl-
edge, communicates to mankind that portion of truth which he has laid
within the reach of their natural faculties. Rereladon is natural reason,
enlarged by a new set of discoveries, communicated by God immediately,
which reason vouches the truth of, by the testimony and proofs it gives
that they come from God. So that he who takes away reason to make
way for reyelation, puts out the light of both, and does much the same
as if he would persuade a man to put out his eyes, the better to receive
the remote light of an invisible star by a telescope."

BEASoir. 875

altliough it cannot fail to appear obyions, on the slightest reflec«
tion, that, in strict propriety, reasoning only expresses one of the
various /unctions or operations of Reason ; and that an extraor-
dinary capacity for the fi>rmer by no means affords a test, by
which the other constituent elements of the latter may be
measured." * Nor is it to conunon and popular language that
this inaccuracy is confined. It has extended itself to the sys-
tems of some of our most acute philosophers, and has, in various
instances, produced an apparent diversity of opinion, where there
was little or none in reality.

In the use which I make of the word Reason^ in the title of
the following disquisitions, I employ it in a manner to which no
philosopher can object, — to denote merdy the power by which
we distinguish truth from falsehood^ and combine means for the
attainment of our ends ; omitting, for the present, all considera-
tion of that function which many have ascribed to it, of distin-
guishing right from wrong ; without, however, presuming to call
in question the accuracy of those by whom the term has been
thus explained. Under the title of Reason, I shall consider also
whatever faculties and operations appear to be more imme-
diately and essentially connected with the discovery of truth, or
the attainment of the objects of our pursuit, — more particu-
larly the power of reasoning or deduction ; but distinguishing,
as careftilly as I can, our capacity of carrying on this logical

* '* The two most different things in the world," says Locke, '• are, a logi-
cal chicaner, and a man of reason." The adjectire reatonabk, as employed
in our language, is not liable to the same ambiguity with the substantive
from which it is deriyed. It denotes a character in which Reason, (taking
that word in its lai^st acceptation,) posaeates a decided oBcmdatd over the
temper and the passuMu; and implies no particular propensity to a display
of the discursire power, if, indeed, it does not exclude the idea of such a
propensity. In the following stanza. Pope certainly had no view to the
logical talents of the lady whom he celebrates : —

" I know a thing that's most uncommon,
(Envy, be silent and attend !)
1 know a reasonable woman.
Handsome and witty, yet a firiend."

876 BEASOK.

process, from those more oomprehensiye powers whicli Beason
is understood to imply.*

Variaut meanings of the word Undentanding^^^Ano^ei
instance of the vagueness and indistinctness of the common
Iftoguage of logicians, in treating of this part of the Philosophy
of the Human Mind, occurs in the word VhdersUmdifig. In its
popular sense, it seems to be very nearly synonymous with

* [Kant, and the later German metaphysicians, together with some of
the French school, assign very different functions to the Reason and the
Understanding, Indeed, the 'distinction between these two faculties is the
key-note of German transcendental philosophy. According to Kant»
Beason is the faculty which evolves oar ideas of all that transcends the
sphere of the senses and the limitations of experience, — of all which is
not subject to the conditions of space and time, but is infinite and absolute.
In one word, Reason is the faculty of the Unconditioned ; it is the soul
itself, in the highest exercise of its activity, forming for itself ideas, to
which there are no corresponding realities in the world of sense or in
the cognitions of the understanding. " Reason," says Krug, one of the ablest
expounders of the Kantian philosophy, " is the noblest jewel of hamanity,
the true image of ^God, whereby alone man can raise himself from one
stage of perfection to another. It rests, therefore, upon the perfectibility
of our race, so that we are always striving after the Ideal, without ever
obtaining it in all its fulness. Consequentiy, Reason is the only chanu>
teristic which distinguishes man from the other beasts of the earth ; these
resemble him more or less in all other respects, tiiey even surpass him in
some, but show no trace of Reason, because tiiey neither strive after the
Ideal, nor are tiiey able to perfect themselves by their own power.'' Bat
it must be remembered, that no knoudedge, propedy so called, can be con-
structed out of these Ideas which are evolved by Reason, since there is no
object corresponding to them in the whole circle of experience. The
Reason ceaselessly strives after a knowledge of God, of the Universe, of
the Immortality and Freedom of the Soul ; and from these vain efforts,
constantly renewed and constantly defeated, have arisen all the doctrines
and systems of metaphysics. We cannot either prove or disprove the
reality of the supersensual objects corresponding to these uieos of the
Reason. The arguments for and against any conclusion respecting them
are equally valid, and thus confute each other. Thus Kant is led to
affirm, that no metaphysical science is possible, and that the doctrines of
ontology and speculative theology are self-contradictory and absurd.

This account of the Reason coincides very nearly with a doctrine attrib-
uted by Cud worth to the ancient philosophers, when he says, " We have
all of us, by nature, fuan-evfid ti (as both Plato and Aristotie call it), a oer

BEA80K. 877

Season, wben that word is used most comprehensively ; and is
seldoiA or never applied to anj of oar facaldes, but such as are
immediately subservient to the investigation of truth, or to the
regulation of our conduct In this sense, it is so far from being
understood to comprehend the powers of imagination, fancy, and
wit, that it is often stated in direct opposition to them ; as in
the common maxim, that a sound understanding and a warm

tain divinatioii, presage, and parturient vaticination in our minds, of some
higher good and perfection than either power or knowledge. Knowledge
is plainly to be preferred before power, as being that which guides and
directs its blind force and impetus ; but Aristotle himself declares, that
there is ^ayoo n KpeiTTOVf which is Xoyav 6pijA, something better than reason
and knowledge, which is the principle and original of all. For (saith he)
Xoycv iipx^ ob Xoyoc, d^Xu n Kpdmv ; the principle of reason is not reason,
but something better." — Cudworth's InteUectuai System, Am. ed. vol. 1^
p. 277.

The Understanding, on the other hand, according to Kant, is a lower
Ikcnlty of the mind, which corresponds yery nearly to what we call under-
standing, or intdlect. It is that faculty of the mind» by which the indi-
yidual representations that come to us through the senses, are formed
into general concqfftions and judgments, so as to become food for thought.
The intuitions of sence^ as' they are termed, are thus formed into concqh
Hons, by'being subsumed under the categories of the Understanding. An
intuition is thus subsumed under the categories of quantity, for instance,
by being necessarily conceived of as one, many, or all; under the catego-
ries of quality, because we must think of it as real, unreal, or limited, &c.
These categories are forms of the Understanding ; they are not received
from experience, but are conditions imposed upon experience, as, without
them, experience would not be possible. The Understanding is like a
colored gkiss, which imposes its own hues upon all external objects. We
cannot see things as they are in themsdves, but only as they appear to us,
under the forms and conditions of the intellect ; we cannot know them
as noumena, but can only recognize them as phenomena,

Kant's system is certainly obscure, but it is by no means unintelligible.
Prom the faint and imperfect outline of it which is here given, and which
is designed only as an explanation of some of its technical terms, it is
easy to see, that it is a system of skepticism far more comprehensive
than that of Hume. It denies the possibility of our knowing any thing
which lies beyond the limits of the senses and experience; and even
within these limits, we can know things, not as they really are, but only
M they appear to us.]

82 •

878 BBA80H.

imagination are seldom united in tlie same pen<m« Bat phOos-
ophera, withoat rejecting this use of the word, very generallj
employ it, with fiur greater latitude, to comprehend all the
powers which I have enumerated under the title of tnUBectual ;
referring to it imagination, memory, and perception, as well as
the faculties to which it is appropriated in popular discourse,
and which it seems, indeed, most properly to denote. It is in
this manner that it is used by Mr. Locke, in his celebrated
Essay ; and by all the logicians, who follow the common division
of our mental powers into those of the understanding and those
of the will

As the word undertUmdingj however, is one of those which
occur very frequently in philosophical arguments, it may be of
some use to disengage it from the ambiguity just remarked;
and it is on this account, that I have followed the example of
some late writers, in distinguishing the two classes of powers,
which were formerly referred to the uiiderstanding and to the
wiUy by calling the former intellectual, and the latter active.*
The terms cognitive and motive, were long ago proposed for
the same purpose by Hobbes ; but they never appear to have
come into general use, and are, indeed, liable to obvious objec-
tions.

Ambiguity of the ioordjudgmenL — The only other indefinite
word, which I shall take notice of in these introductory remarks,
is judgment ; and, in doing so, I shall confine myself to such
of its ambiguities as are more peculiarly connected with our
present subject In some cases, its meaning seems to approach
to that of understanding ; as in the nearly synonymous phrases,
a sound understanding, and a sound judgment If there be any
difierence between these two modes of expression, it appears to
me to consist chiefly in this, that the former implies a greater
degree of positive ability than the latter ; which indicates rather
fm exemption firom those biases which lead the mind astray,
than the possession of any uncommon reach of capacity. To
understandingy we apply the epithets strong, vigorous, compre-

* [See note to page 14.]

REJLBOV. 379

heiisiye, profound : to judgmenty those of correct^ oool, unpreju-
diced, impartial, solid. It was in this sense, that the word
seems to have been understood by Pope, in the following
couplet : —

" 'Tis with onr jadgments as onr watches ; none
Go just alike, yet each belieyes his own."

For this meaning of the word, its primitive and literal appli-
cation to the judicial decision of a tribunal accounts suffi-
ciently.

Agreeably to the same fundamental idea, the name of jimj/-
ment is given with peculiar propriety to those acquired powers
of discernment, which characterize a skilful critic in the fine
arts ; powers which depend, in a very great degree, on a temper
of mind free from the undue influence of authority and of
casual associations. The power of tcute itself is frequently
denoted by the appellation oijvdffment; and a person who
possesses a more than ordinary share of it, is said to be a
judge in those matters which fall under its cognizance.

In treatises of \o^<i^ judgment is commonly defined to be cm
act of the mindy by which one thing is affirmed or denied of
another; a definition which, though not unexceptionable, is,
perhaps, less so than most that have been given on similar
occasions. Its defect, as Dr. Beid has remarked, consists in
this, — that although it be by affirmation or denial that we
express our judgments to others, yet judgment is a solitary act
of the mind, to which this affirmation or denial is not essential ;•
and, therefore, if the definition be admitted, it must be under-
stood of mental affirmation or denial only ; in which case, we do
no more than substitute, instead of the thing defined, another
mode of speaking, perfectly synonymous. The definition has,
however, notwithstanding this imperfection, the merit of a con-
ciseness and perspicuity, not often to be found in the attempts
of logicians to explain our intellectual operations.

Obscurity in metaphysics is always the fault of the writer, ^-
To the following observations of D'Alembert, (with some tri-
fling verbal exceptions,) I give my most cordial assent ; and.

880 BSABOir.

mortifying as thej may appear to the preiensioiis of bolder
theorists, I should be happj to see them generallj recognized
as canons of philosophical criticism: '^ Truth in metaphysics
resembles truth in matters of taste. In both cases, the seeds
of it exist in every mind ; though few think of attending to
this latent treasure, till it be pointed out to them by more curi-
ous inquirers. It should seem, that every thing we learn from a
good metaphysical book, is only a sort of reminiscence of what
the mind previously knew. The obscurity of which we are i^t
to complain in this science, may be always Justly ascribed to
the author ; because the information which he professes to com-
municate, requires no technical language appropriated to itself.
Accordingly, we may apply to good metaphysioal authors, what
has been said of those who excel in the art of writing, that, in
reading them, everybody is i^t to imagine, that he himself
could have written in the same manner.

^ But, in this sort of speculation, if all are qualified to under-
stand, all are not fitted to teach. The merit of accommodating
easily to the apprehension of others, notions which are at once
simple and just, appears, from its extreme rarity, to be much
greater than is commonly imagined. Sound metaphysical prin-
ciples, are truths which every one is ready to seize, but which
few men have the talent of unfolding ; so difficult is it in this,
as well as in other instances, to appropriate to one's sel^ what
seems to be the common inheritance of the human race."

I begin with a review of some of those primary truths, a
•conviction of which is necessarily implied in all our thoughts^
and in all our actions ; and which seem, on that account, rather
to form constituent and essential elements of reason, than
objects with which reason is conversant The import of this
last remark will appear more clearly afterwards.

The primary truths to which I mean to confine my attentioQ
at present are, 1. Mathematical axioms; 2. IhUksy (or more
properly speaking, laws of belief y) inseparably connected with
the exercise of consciousness, perception, memory, and rea-
soning.

I. Of MathemoHeal Axioms. — I have placed this class of

SEASON. 381

trnths at the head of the enumeration, merely beiause thej
seem likely, from the place which they hold in the elements of
geometry, to present to my readers a more interesting, and at
the same time an easier, subject of discussion, than some of the
more abstract and latent elements of our knowledge, afterwards
to be considered. In other respects, a different arrangement
might perhaps have possessed some advantages, in point of strict
logical method.

Axioms are not principles from which any knowledge can be
deduced. — It was long ago remarked by Locke, of the axioms
of geometry, as stated by Euclid, that, although the proposition
be at first enunciated in general terms, and afterwards appealed
to, in its particular applications, as a principle previously
examined and admitted, yet that the truth is not less evident in
the latter case than in the former. He observes further, that it
is in some of its particular applications, that the truth of every
axiom is originally perceived by the mind ; and, therefore, that
the general proposition, so far from being the ground of our
assent to the truths which it comprehends, is only a verbal
generalization of what, in particular instances, has been already
acknowledged as true.

The same author remarks, that some of these axioms ** are
no more than bare verbal propositions, and teach us nothing but
the respect and import of names one to another. 'The whole is
equal to all its parts * ; what real truth, I beseech yon, does it
teach us ? What more is contained in that maxim, than what
the signification of the word totum^ or the whole, does of itself
import? And he that knows that the word whole stands for
what is made up of all its parts, knows very little less, than that
''the whole is equal to all its parts/' And upon the same
ground, I think that this proposition, 'A hill is higher than a
valley,' and several the like, may also pass foi maxims."

How far axioms are usefriL — Notwithstanding these con-
siderations, 'Mr. Locke does not object to the form which
Euclid has given to his axioms, or to the place which he has
assigned to them in his Elements. On the contrary, he is of
opinion, that a collection of such maxims is not without reason

S82 WUAQK.

»

prefixed to a mathematical system; in order that learners,
^ having in the beginning perfectlj acquainted their thoughtd
with these propositions made in general terms, may have them
ready to apply to all particular cases, as formed rules and say-
ings. Not that, if they be equally weighed, they are more
dear and evident than the instances they are brought to con-
firm ; but that, being more familiar to the mind, the very nam-
ing of them is enough to satisfy the understanding." In further
illustration of this, he adds, very justly and ingeniously, that
^ although our knowledge begins in particulars, and so spreads
itself, by degrees, to generals ; yet, afterwards, the mind takes
quite the contrary course, and having drawn its knowledge into
as general propositions as it can, makes them familiar to its
thoughts, and accustoms itself to have recourse to them, as to
the standards of truth and falsehood.**

But although in mathematics some advantage may be gained,
without the risk of any possible inconvenience, from this ar-
rangement of axioms, it is a very dangerous example to be fol-
lowed in other branches of knowledge, where our notions are
not equally clear and precise ; and where the force of our pre-
tended axioms, (to use Mr. Locke*s words,) ^ reaching only to
the sound, and not to the signification, of the words, serves only
to lead us into confusion, mistakes, and error." For the illus-
tration of this remark, I must refer to Locke.

Axioms are not the foundations on which science rests. —
Another observation of this profound writer deserves our
attention, while examining the nature of axioms ; ^ that they
are not the foundations on which any of the sciences is built;
nor at all useful in helping men forward to the discovery
of unknown truths." This observation I intend to illustrate
afterwards, in treating of the futility of the syllogistic art. At
present, I shall only add to what Mr. Locke has so well stated,
that, even in mathematics, it cannot with any propriety be said,
that the axioms are the foundation on which the science rests,
or the first principles from which its more recondite truths are
deduced.

**0f intuitive evidence," says Dr. Campbell, "that of the

REASON. 383

following propositions may serve as an illustration : < One and
four make five.' * Things equal to the same thing, are equal to
one another.' 'The whole is greater than a part;' and, in
brief, all axioms in arithmetic and geometry. These are, in
effect, but so many expositions* of our own general notions,
taken in different views. Some of them are no more than defi-
nitions, or equivalent to definitions. To saj, one and four make
five, is precisely the same thing as to say, we give the name oi
five to one added to four. In fact, they are all, in some re-
spects, reducible to this axiom, ' whatever is, is.' I do not scty
they are deduced from it, for they have, in like manner, that
original and intrinsic evidence which makes them, as soon as
the terms are understood, to be perceived intuitively. And, if
they are not thus perceived, no deduction of reason will ever
confer on them any additional evidence. Nay, in point of time,
the dieeovery of the less general truths has the priority, not fbam
their superior evidence, but solely from this consideration, that
the less general are sooner objects of perception to us. But I
affirm, that ihotigh not deduced from that axioms they may be
considered as particular exemplijications of it, and coincident
with it, inasmuch as they are all implied in this, that the proper-
ties of our clear and adequate ideas, can be no other than what
the mind clearly perceives them to be.

" Now, it is fey the aid of such simple and elementary princi-
ples, that the arithmetician and algebraist proceed to the most
astonishing discoveries. Nor are the operations of the geome-
trician essentially differenf*

7%6 nature of mathematical investigations. — I have little to
object to these observations of Dr. Campbell, as far as they
relate to arithmetic and to algebra ; for, in these sciences, all
our investigations amount to nothing more than to a comparison
of different expressions of the same thing. Our common lan-
guage indeed frequently supposes the case to be otherwise ; as
when an equation is defined to be, *^ A proposition asserting the
equality of two quantities." It would, however, be much more
correct to define it, " A proposition asserting the equivalence of
two expressions of the same quantity ; " for algebra is merely a

S84 UEASOV*

muYenal aridunetie; aad the names of numbers are nothing
else than oollectiyesy by which we are enabled to express our-
selves more condselj than could be done bj enumerating all
the units that thej contain. Of this doctrine, the passage now
quoted from Dr. Campbell shows that he entertained a suffi-
ciently just and precise idea.

But, if Dr. Campbell perceived that arithmetical equations,
such as ^ one and four make five," are no other than definitions,
why should he have classed them with the axioms he quotes
fiY>m Euclid, ^ That the whole is greater than a part," and that
^ Things equal to the same thing are equal to one another? " —
propositions which, however clearly their truth be implied in
the meaning of the terms of which they consist, cannot certainly,
by any interpretation, be considered in the light of definitions at
all analogous to the former. The former, indeed, are only ex-
planations of the relative import of particular names ; the latter
are universal propositions, applicable alike to an infinite variety
of instances.

Another very obvious consideration might have satisfied Dr.
Campbell, that the simple arithmetical equations which he men-
tions, do not hold the same place in that science which Euclid's
axioms hold in geometry. What I allude to is, that the greater
part of these axioms are equally essential to all the different
branches of mathematics. That ^ the whole is greater than a
part," and that ^ things equal to the same thing are equal to one
another," are propositions as essentially connected with our
arithmetical computations, as with our geometrical reasonings ;
and therefore, to explain in what manner the mind makes a
transition, in the case of numbers, from the more simple to the
more complicated equations, throws no light whatever on the
question, how the transition is made, either in arithmetic or in
geometry, from what are properly called axioms, to the more
remote conclusions in these sciences.

The very fruitless attempt thus made by this acute writer to
illustrate the importance of axioms as the basis of mathematical
truth, was probably suggested to him by a doctrine which has
been repeatedly inculcated of late, concerning the grounds of

RKASOV. 8S5

that peculiar evidence which is allowed to accompany mathe-
matical demonstration. ^ All the sciences,'' it has been said,
^rest ultimately on first principles, which we must take for
granted without proof; and whose evidence determines, both in
kind and degree, the evidence which it is possible to attain in
our conclusions. In some of the sciences, our first principles
are intuitively certain ; in others, they are intuitively probable ;
and such as the evidence of these principles is, such must that
of our conclusions be. If our first principles are intuitively
certain, and if we reason from them consequentially, our con-
clusions will be demonstratively certain ; but if our principles
be only intuitively probable, our conclusions will be only demon-
stratively probable. In mathematics, the first principles from
which we reason are a set of axioms, which are not only intui-
tively certain, but of which we find it impossible to conceive the
contraries to be true ; and hence the peculiar evidence which
belongs to all the conclusions that follow from these principles
as necessary consequences."

Definitions^ not cueiomSy are the first principles of mcUhe'
nuxtics. — That there is something fundamentally erroneous in
these very strong statements with respect to the relation which
Suclid's axioms bear to the geometrical theorems which follow,
appears sufficiently from a consideration which was long ago
mentioned by Locke, that from these axioms it is not possible
for human ingenuity to deduce a single inference. ^ It was not,"
says Locke, '^ the influence of those maxims which are taken for
principles in mathematics, that hath led the masters of that
science to those wonderful discoveries they have made. Let a
man of good parts know all the maxims generally made use of
in mathematics never so perfectly, and contemplate their extent
and consequences as much as he pleases, he will, by their assist-
ance, I suppose, scarce ever come to know, that ' the square
of the hypothenuse in a right angled triangle, is equal to the
squares of the two other sides.' The knowledge that ' the whole
is equal to all its parts,' and, ' if you take equals from equals,
the remainders will be equal,' helped him not, I presume, to this
demonstration ; and a man may, I think, pore long enough on

33

886 BXA80H.

these axiomsy without erer seeing one jot the more of ma&B»
matical truths." Bat smelj, if this he granted, and if, at the
same time, hj the first principles of a science he meant those
fundamental propositions from which its remoter truths are
derived, the axioms cannot, with any consistency, he called the
first principles of mathematics. They have not, it will be ad-
mitted, the most distant analogy to what are called the first
principles of natural philosophy; — to those general facts, for
example, of the gravity and elasticity of the air, from which
may be deduced, as consequences, the suspension of the mercury
in the Torricellian tube, and its fiall when carried up to an
eminence. According to this meaning of the word, the princi-
ples of mathematical science are, not the axioms^ hut the defini-
tioriM ; which definitions hold, in mathematics, precisely the same
place that is held in natural philosophy by such general &cts
as have now been referred to.*

* In order to prevent caril, it may be necessary for me to remark here,
that when I speak of mathematical axioms, I hare in yiew only such as
are of the same description with the first nine of those which are prefixed
to the Elements of Euclid ; for, in that list, it is well known, that there
are several which belong to a dass of propositions altogether different from
the others. That "all right angles (for example) are equal to one
another ; ** that " when one straight line falling on two other straight lines
makes the two interior angles on the same side less than two right angles,
these two straight lines, if produced, shall meet on the side, where are the
two angles less than two right angles ; " are manifestly principles whidi
bear no analogy to such barren truisms as these, " Things that are equal
to one and the same thing, are equal to one another." " If equals be
added to equals, the wholes are equal." " If equals be taken from equals,
the remainders are equal." Of these propositions, the two former (the
10th and 11th axioms, to wit, in Euclid's list) are evidently theorems
which, in point of strict logical accuracy, ought to be demonstrated ; as
may be easily done, with respect to the first, in a single sentence. That
the second has not yet been proved in a simple and satisflM^toTy manner,
has been long considered as a sort of reproach to mathematicians ; and
I have little doubt that this reproach will continue to exist, till the basis
of the science be somewhat enlarged, by the introduction of one or two
new definitions, to serve as additional principles of geometrical reasoTiinor.

[l>r. Whewell and Mr. J. S. Mill have engaged in this discnssioQ

BBASOir. 887

From what principle are the varioos properties of the cncle
derived, but from the definition of a circle ? From what prin-

respecting the nature of axioms and the first principles of mathema\ical
reasoning, the former controyerting, and the latter supporting, the opinions
of Mr. Stewart. Yet the admission made hj Stewart in the former part
of this note seems to take away much of the ground of controversy
between him and Dr. Whewell. It seems to be admitted on all hands, by
Mr. Mill as well as by Mr. Stewart, that what Dr. Whewell calls " the
peculiar geometrical axioms," such as the 10th and 11 1^ of Euclid, are
among the first principles of geometry, — that, far from being barren
truisms, like the first nine, proper inferences can be deduced from them,
and the whole structure of geometry could not be built up without their
aid. The only doubt is, whether they are properly called cLrioms, whether
they should not be considered rather as theorems, or propositions which
ought to be demonstrated, though geometricians have not as yet succeeded
in proving them. On the other hand. Dr. Whewell does not assert that
geometrical reasoning rests exdusivdy upon axioms, but allows that defini-
tions must be classed with them, both together constituting the first prin-
ciples of the science. He urges, " that no one has yet been able to con-
struct a system of mathematical truths by the aid of definitions alone ;
that a definition would not be admissible or applicable, except it agreed
with a distinct conception in the mind ; that the definitions which we
employ in mathematics are not arbitrary or hypothetical, but necessary
definitions ; and that the real foundation of the truths of mathematics is
the idea of space, which may be expressed, for purposes of demonstration,
partly by definitions and partly by axioms."

Mr. Mill answers, " Those who say that the premises of geometry are
hypotheses, are not bound to maintain them to be hypotheses which have
no relation whatever to fact. Since an hypothesis framed for the pur-
pose of scientific inquiry must relate to something which has real exist-
ence, (for there can be no science respecting nonentities,) it follows, that
any hypothesis which we make respecting an object,^ to facilitate our
study of it, must not involve any thing which is distinctly false, and re-
pugnant to its real nature ; we must not ascribe to the thing any prop
erty, which it has not ; our liberty extends only to suppressing some of
those which it has, under the indispensable obligation of restoring thc^
-whenever, and as far as, their presence or absence would make any
Tnaterial diflference in the truth of our conclusion. Of this nature, bx>
cordingly, are the first principles involved in the definitions of geometry.
Jn their positive part, they are observed facts ; it is only in their negative
i>art that they are hypothetical."

It had been previously remarked by Mr. Mill, Ahat ** there exist no real

S88 BBAflOH

eiple the properties of the parabola or ellipse^ but from the
definitions of these eonres ? A similar observation may be ex-
tended to all the other theorems which the mathematician
demonstrates ; and it is this observation (which, obvious as it
maj seem, does not appear to have occorredy in all its force,

tilings exactly conformable to the definitions. There exist no points with-
ont magnitude ; no lines without breadth, nor perfectly straight ; no circles
with all their radii exactly equal, nor squares with all their angles perfectly
right." " To get rid of this difficulty, and, at the same time, to save the
credit of the supposed systems of necessary truth, it is customary to say
that the points, lines, circles, and squares which are the subject of geome-
try, exist in our conceptions merely, and are part of our minds ; which
minds, by working on their own materials, construct an a pruwi science, die
evidence of which is purely mental, and has nothing whatever to do with
outward experience." This doctrine, however, he maintains to be psycho-
logicaLy incorrect ; for " we cannot conceive a line without breadth; we can
form no mental picture of such a line ; all the lines which we have in our
minds are lines possessing breadth." " A line, as defined by geometers, is
wholly inconceivable. We can reason about a line," he admits, "as if it
had no breadth ; " but this is only because we have a power of cUtending to
a part of our perception or conception, instead of the whole. The conclu-
sion, therefore, in geometry, is only so far an approximation to the truth, as
the points, lines, circles, etc., which are described in the definitions, are
approximations to the real Unes, circles, etc., which actually exist.

** The peculiar accuracy," continues Mr. Mill, " supposed to be charac-
teristic of the first principles of geometry, thus appears to be fictitious.
The assertions, on which the reasoning^ of the science are founded, do not,
any more than in other sciences, exactly correspond with the fact ; but we
wppoee that they do so, for the sake of tracing the consequences which fol-
low from the supposition. The opinion of Dugald Stewart respecting the
foundations of geometry, is, I conceive, substantially correct; — that it is
built upon hypotheses ; that it owes to this alone the peculiar certainty
supposed to distinguish it ; and that, in any science whatever, by reasoning
lh>m a set of hypotheses, we may obtain a body of conclusions as certain
as those of geometry ; — that is, as strictly in accordance with the hypoth-
eses, and as irresistibly compelling assent on condUitm that those hypotheses
are true. When, therefore, it is affirmed that the conclusions of geometry
are necessary truths, the necessity consists in reality only in this, that they
necessarily follow from the suppositions from which they are deduced.
These suppositions are so fiir from being necessary, that they are not even
true; they purposely depart, more or less widely, from the truth.'* —
BiiU's Logic, Am. ed.pp. 148-151.

either to Locke, to Reid, or to Campbell,) that ftimishes, if I
mistake not, the true explanation of the peculiarity already
remarked in mathematical evidence.

Btd the truth of the axioms is presupposed or implied in all our
reasonings. — After what has been just stated, it is scarcely
necessary for me again to repeat, with regard to mathematical
axioms, that although they are not the principles of our reason-
ing, either in arithmetic or in geometry, their truth is supposed
or implied in all our reasonings in both ; and, if it were called
in question, our further progress would be impossible. In both
of these respects, we shall find them analogous to the other
classes of primary or elemental truths, which remain to be con-
sidered.

Nor let it be imagined, from this concession, that the dispute
turns merely on the meaning annexed to the word principle.
It turns upon an important question of fact ; whether the
theorems of geometry rest on the axioms, in the same sense in
which they rest on the definitions ? or (to state the question in
a manner still more obvious) whether axioms hold a place
in geometry at all analogous to what is occupied in natural
philosophy, by those sensible phenomena which form the basis
of that science? Dr. Reid compares them sometimes to the
one set of propositions, and sometimes to the other. If tlie
foregoing observations be just, they bear no analogy to either.

WhcU are ^ first principles' in science.^ — The difference
of opinion between Locke and Reid, of which I took notice in
the foregoing part of this section, appears greater than it really
is, in consequence of an ambiguity in the word principle^ a»
employed by the latter. In its proper acceptation, it seems to
nie to denote an assumption, (whether resting on fact or on
hypothesis,) upon which, as a datum, a train of reasoning pro^
ceeds ; and for the falsity or incorrectness of which, no logical
rigor in the subsequent process can compensate. Thus the
gravity and the elasticity of the air, are principles of reasoning
in our speculations about the barometer. The equality of tlie
angles of .incidence and reflection ; the proportionality of tlie
Bines of incidence and refraction ; are principles of reasoning in

33*

S90 BSA80K.

catoptrics and in dioptricB. In a sense perfecdj analogous to
this, the definitions of geometry (all of which are -merelj hy-
pothetical) are the first principles of reasoning in the snbse-
qnent demonstrationsi and the hasis on which the whole &bric
of the science rests.

I have called this the proper acceptation of the word, be<
cause it is that in which it is most frequently used by the best
writers. It is also most agreeable to the literal meaning which
its etymology suggests, expressing the art ffinal paint from which
our reasoning sets out or commences.

Dr. Beid often uses the word in this s^ise, as, for example,
in the following sentence : '' From three or four axioms, which
he calls regula phihiophandi^ together with the phencMnena
observed by the senses, which he likewise lays down as Jirst
prineipleSf Newton deduces, by strict reasoning, the proposi-
tions contained in the third book of his Prindpia, and in his
Optics.''

Another itffnifieatian of ^ Jirst principlee* — On other occa-
sions, he uses the same word to denote those ekmental inUhs (if
I may use the expression) which are virtually taken far granted
or assumed^ in every step of our reasoning ; and without which,
although no consequences can be directly inferred from them, a
train of reasoning would be impossible. Of this kind, in nuMthe^
maticsj are the axioms^ or (as Mr. Locke and others frequently
call them) the maxims ; in physics^ a belief of the continuance
of the Laws of Nature ; in all our reasonings^ without excep-
tion, a belief in our awn identity^ and in the evidence of mem^
ory. Such truths are the last elements into which reasoning
resolves itself, when subjected to a metaphysical analysis, and
which no person but a metaphysician or a logician ever thinks
of stating in the form of propositions, or even of expressing
verbally to himself. It is to truths of this description, that
Locke seems, in general, to apply the name of maxims ; and,
in this sense, it is unquestionably true, that no science (not even
geometry) is founded on maxims as its Jirst principles*

Distinction between principles of reasoning and dements of
reasoning. — In one sense of the wordi principle^ indeed, max

BBASOK. 39]

ims maj be caOed principles of reasoning ; for the words prin-
ciples and elements are sometimes used as s3m<Mijmons. Nor
do I take upon me to saj that this mode of speaking is excep-
tionable. All that I assert is, that thej cannot be called princi-
ples of reasoning, in the sense which has just now been defined;
and that accuracj requires, that the word, on which the whole
question hinges, should not be used in both senses, in the course
of the same argument It is for this reason, that I have em-
plojed the phrase principles of reasoning on the one occasion,
and elements of reckoning on the other.

It is difficult to find unexceptionable language, to mark dis-
tinctions so completely foreign to the ordinary purposes of
speech; but, in the present instance, the line of separation is
strongly and clearly drawn by this criterion, — that from prin-
eiples of reasoning^ consequences mag he deduced; from what I
have called elemients of retuoning^ none ever can,

A process of logical reasoning has often been likened to a
chain supporting a weight. 1£ this siioiilitude be adopted, the
axioms, or elemental truths now mentioned, may be compared
to the successive concatenations which connect the different
links immediately with each other ; the principles of our rea^
floning resemble the hook, or rather the beam, from which the
whole is suspended.*

* D'Alembert has defined the word principle exactly in the sense in
whidi I haye used it; and has expressed himself (at least on one ooo»-
•ion) nearly as I have done, on the snbject of axioms.

" What, then, are the truths which are entitled to haye a place in the
elements of philosophy ? They are of two kinds ; those which form the
head of each part of the chain, and those which are to be found at the
points where different branches of the chain nnite together.

'* Troths of the first kind axe distinguished by this,— that they do not
depend on any other troths, and that they possess within themselres the
whole grounds of their evidence. Some of my readers will be apt to
suppose, that I here mean to speak of axioms ; but these are not the troths
which I have at present in yiew. With respect to this last class of princi-
ples, I must refer to what I have elsewhere said of them ; that, notwith-
standing their troth, they add nothing to our information ; and that the
palpable eyidence which accompanies them, amounts to nothing more

892 HEASOlT.

nL Of emrimn lawi of hdief imeparMp eanneeted afiik the
txerci$e of €on$ciou9ne$$j memory ^ percepHonj and reasoning, —
1. It is bj the immediate evidence of eoruciouiness^* that we
are assured of the present existence of our various sensations,
whether pleasant or painful; of all omr affections, passions,
hopes, fears, desires, and volitions. It is thus, too, we are assured
of the present existence of those thoughts which, during our
waking hours, are oontinuallj passing through the mind, and <^
all the different effects which they produce in furnishing employ-
ment to our intellectual faculties.

Jffow we come to a knowledge of our own existenee. — Accord-
ing to the common doctrine of our best philosophers, it is by the
evidence of consciousness we are assured that we ourselves
exist. The proposition, however, when thus stated, is not accu-
rately true ; for our own existeneef as I have elsewhere observed,
ii not a direct or immediate object of consciousnesiy in the strict
and logical meaning of that term. We are conscious of fensO"
Hon, thought, desire, volition ; but we are not conscious of the
existence of mind itself; nor would it be possible for us to
arrive at the knowledge of it, (supposing us to be created in the
full possession of all the inteUectual capacities which belong to
human nature,) if no impressions were ever made on our exter-
nal senses. The moment that, in consequence of such an im-
pression, a sensation is excited, we learn two facts at once ; —
the existence of the sensation, and our own existence as sentient
beings ; — in other words, the very first exercise of c(mscioa&-
ness necessarily implies a belief, not only of the present exist-
ence of what is felt, but of the present existence of that vrhich
feels and thinks ; or (to employ plainer language) the present
existence of that being which I denote by the words I and
myself. Of these facts, however, it is the former alone of which

than to an expression of the same idea, by means of two different terms.
On such occasions, the mind only tarns to no pnrpose about its own axis,
without advancing forward a single step. Accordingly, axioms are so far
from holding the highest tank in philosophy, that tl\ey scarcely deserve
the distinction of being formally enunciated."
r* See note to page 3.]

BSASOK. 893

we can properly be said to be oonsciousy agreeably to the
rigorous interpretation of the expression. A conviction of the
latter, although it seems to be so inseparable from the exercise
of consciousness, that it can scarcely be considered as posterior
to it in the order of time, is yet (if I may be allowed to make
use of a scholastic distinction) posterior to it in the order of
nature; not only as it supposes consciousness to be already
awakened by some sensation, or some other mental affection ;
but as it is evidently rather a judgment accompanying the exer«
cise of that power, than one of its immediate intimations con-
cerning its appropriate class of internal phenomena. It appears
to me, therefore, more correct to call the belief of our own
existence a concomitant, or accessory, of the exercise of con-
sciousness, than to say, that our own existence is a fact falling
under the immediate cognizance of consciousness, like the exist-
ence of the various agreeable or painful sensations which
external objects excite in our minds.

2. Not eansciatunesSj hut memory^ proves our personal identity.
— That we cannot, without a very blamable latitude in the use
of words, be said to be conscious of our personal identity, is a
proposition still more indisputable ; inasmuch as the very idea
of personal identity involves the idea of time, and, consequently,
presupposes the exercise not only of consciousness, but of
memory. /The belief connected with this idea is implied in
every thought and every action of the mind, and may be justly
regarded as one of the simplest and most essential elements of
the understanding. Indeed, it is impossible to conceive either
an intellectual or an active being to exist without it It is,
however, extremely worthy of remark, with respect to this
belief, that, universal as it is among our species, nobody but a
metaphysician ever thinks of expressing it in words, or of reduc-
ing into the shape of a proposition the truth to which it relates.
To the rest of mankind, it forms, not an object of knowledge,
but a condition or supposition, necessarily and unconsciously
involved in the exercise of all their faculties. On a part of our
constitution, which is obviously one of the last or primordial
elements at which it is possible to arrive in analyzing our intel-

t94 BSABOK.

lectnal operations^ it is plalnlj anphilosophical to s ippose, that
anj new light can be thrown by metaphysical discussion. All
that can be done with propriety in such cases, is to state the
fact

8. Other dementcH laws of thought. — The belief which all
men entertain of ih$ existence of the materiai woMy (I mean
their belief of its existence independently of that of percipient
beings,) and their expectation of the continued uniformity of the
laws ofnaturCf belong to the same dass of ultimate or elemental
laws of thought with those which have been just mentioned.
The truths which form their objects are of an order so radically
different from what are commonly called truths, in the popular
acceptation of that word, that it might perhaps be useful for
logicians to distinguish them by some appropriate appellation,
such, for example, as that of metaphysical or tnjmscendental
truths. They are not principles or data (as will afterwards
appear) from which any consequence can he deduced; but form
a part of those original stamina of human reason^ which are
equally essential to all the pursuits of science, and to all the
active concerns of life.

4. Confidence necessarily reposed on memory. — I shall only
take notice further, under this head, of the confidence which we
must necessarily repose in the evidence of memory, (and I may
add, in the continuance of our personal identity,) when we are
employed in carrying on any process of deduction or argumenta-
tion ; — in following out, for instance, the steps of a long mathe-
matical demonstration. In yielding our assent to the conclusion
to which such a demonstration leads, we evidently trust to the
fidelity with which our memory has connected the different links
of the chain together. The reference which is oflen made, in.
the course of a demonstration, to propositions formerly proved,
places the same remark in a light stili stronger; and shows
plainly, that, in this branch of knowledge, which is justly con-
sidered as the most certain of any, the authority of the same
laws of belief which are recognized in the ordinary pursuits of
life, is tacitly acknowledged. Deny the evidence of memory as a
ground of certain knowledge, and you destroy is4tf foundatu>ns

SEASON. 395

of mathemcUtcal science as completely as if you were to deny
the truth of the axioms assumed by Euclid*

The foregoing examples sufficiently illustrate the nature of
that class of truths which I have called Fundamental Laws of
Ifuman Belie/, or Primary Elements of Human Reason. A
variety of others, not less important, might be added to the
list ; * but these I shall not at present stop to enumerate, as my
chief object in introducing the subject here, was to explain the
common relation in which they all stand to deductive evidence.
In this point of view, two analogies, or rather coincidences, be-
tween the truths which we have been last considering, and the
mathematical axioms which were treated of formerly, immedi-
ately present themselves to our notice.

Analogies between these elemental truths and mathematical
cucioms. — 1. From neither of these classes of truths can any
direct inference be drawn for the further enlargement of our
knowledge. This remark has been already shown to hold uni-
versally with respect to the axioms of geometry ; and it applies
equally to what I have called FundametUal Laws of Human
Belief From such propositions as these, — I exist; I am the
sam>e person to-day, that I was yesterday ; the material world has
an existence independent of my mind; the general laws of nature
will continue, in future, to operate uniform^ as in time past, — -
no inference can be deduced, any more than from the intuitive
truths prefixed to the Elements of Euclid. Abstracted from
other data, they are perfectly barren in themselves; nor can
any possible combination of them help the mind forward one
single step in its progress. It is for this reason, that instead of
calling them, with some other writers, ^r«< principles, I have dis-
tinguished them by the title oi fundamental laws of belief; the
former word seeming to me to denote, according to common
usage, some fact, or some supposition, from which a series of
consequences may be deduced.

"* Such, for example, as our belief of the existence of efficient causes
oar belief of the existence of other intelligent beings besides onrselyes
etc. etc.

896 BEASON.

If the account now g^ven of these laws of bebef be just, the
great argument which has been commonlj urged in support of
their authority, and which manifestly confounds them with what
are properly called principles of reasoning, is not at all appli
cable to the subject ; or, at least, does not rest the point in dis-
pute upon its right foundation. J£ there were no first princi-
ples, (it has been said,) or, in other words, if a reason could be
given for every thing, no process of deduction could possibly be
brought to a conclusion.*

The remark is indisputably true ; but it only proves (what
no logician of the present times will venture to deny)* that the
mathematician could not demonstrate a single theorem, unless
he were first allowed to lay down his definitions ; nor the nat-
ural philosopher, explain or account for a single phenomenon,
unless he were allowed to assume, as acknowledged facts, cer-
tain general lawi of nature. What inference does this aSbrd
in favor of that particular Class of truths to which the preced-
ing observations relate, and against which the ingenuity of naod-

* Aristotle himself has more than once made this remark ; more partio-
alarly in discussing the absurd question, Whether it be possible for the
same thing to be and not to be 1 A^iovai 6e kcu tovto anodeuanwai rtvec
6i' anatSewnav, Eart yap anaiSevata, to fttf ytvooKetv tohjv 6u ^retv anodet^tv,
KOI Ttviiv ou 6ei. *OXug fiev yap diravrov a^warov awodet^tv eaxu. £4^
amtpov yap av Padt^t * 6aTe fofi^ oirrui etv<u anodet^iv. — Aristot Afeto-
phys. vol. ii. p. 873. Edit, du Val.

"But there are some who, through ignorance, make an attempt to
prove even this principle, (that it is impossible for the same thing to be
and not to be). For it is a mark of ignorance not to be able to distinguish
those things which ought to be demonstrated from things of which no
demonstration should be attempted. In truth, it is altogether impossible
that every thing should be susceptible of demonstration ; otherwise, the
process would extend to infinity, and, after all our labor, nothing woald
be gained." In the sentence immediately preceding this quotation, Aris-
totle calls the maxim in question, pe^atOTani t<jv apxuv naouv, " the uiost
certain of all principles."

To the same purpose. Dr. Beid has sfud, " I hold it to be certain, and
even demonstrable, that all knowledge got by reasoning, must be bcult on
first principles. This," he adds, " is as certain as that every house n&osc
hflve a foundation."

BEASON. 3\)i

en\ skeptics has been more particularlj directed ? If I be not
deceived, these truths are still more intimately connected witli
the operations of the reasoning faculty than has been generally
imagined ; not its the principles (aexf^u) from which our reason-
ings set out, and on which they ultimately depend ; hU as the nec^
essary conditions on which every step of the deduction tacitfy
proceeds ; or rather (if I may use the expression) as essential
elements which enter into the composition of reason itself.

2. In this last remark, I have anticipated, in some measure,
what I had to state with respect to the second coincidence
alluded to, between mathematical axioms and the other propo-
sitions which I comprehended under the general title of funda-
mental laws of human belie£ As the truth of axioms is vir-
tually presuppased, or implied, in the successive steps of every
demonstration, so, in every step of our reasonings c(ynceming the
order of nature^ we proceed on the supposition^ thai the laws by
which it is reyidatedy will continue uniform as in time past ;
and that the material universe has an existence independent of
our perceptions, I need scarcely add, that, in aU awr reasonings
whatever^ whether they relate to necessary or to contingent
truths, our own personal identity ^ and the evidence of memory ^
are virtuodly taken for granted. These different truths all agree
in this, that they are essentially Involved in the exercise of our
rational powers ; although, in themselves, they furnish no prin-
ciples or data by which the sphere of our knowledge can, by an
ingenuity, be enlarged. They agree, further, in being tacitly
acknowledged by aU men, learned or ignorant, without any formal
enunciation in words, or even any conscious exercise of reflec-
tion. It is only at that period of our intellectual progress, when
ficientific arrangements and metaphysical refinements begin to
be introduced, that they become objects of attention to the
mind, and assume the form of propositions.

Olgections to the phrase, principles of common sense, — To
the class of truths which I have here called laws of belief or
elements of reason, the title of principles of common sense was
long ago given by Father Buffier, whose language and doctrine

34

898 REASON.

concemiDg them bear a yerj striking resemblance to those of
some of our Utter Scottish logicians. This, at least, strikes me
as the meaning which these writers, in genercdj annex to the
phrase ; although all of them have frequently employed it with
a far greater degree of latitude. When thus limited in its
acceptation, it is obviously liable, in point of scientific accuracy,
to two very strong objections, both of which have been already
suificiently illustrated. The first is, that it applies the appella-
tion of pr%nciple$ to laws of belief from which no inference can
be deduced ; the second, that it refers the origin of these laws
to common iense. Nor is this phraseology more agreeable to
popular use than to logical precision. If we were to suppose
an individual whose conduct betrayed a disbelief of his own
existence, or of his own identity, or of the reality of surround-
ing objects, it would, by no means, amount to an adequate
description of his condition, to say, that he was destitute of com-
mon sense. We should at once pronounce him to be destitute
of reason, and would no longer consider him as a fit subject of
discipline or of punishment. The former expression, indeed,
would only imply that he was apt to faU into absurdities and
improprieties in the common concerns of life. To denominate,
therefore, such laws of belief as we have now been considering,
constituent elements of human reason, while it seems quite unex-
ceptionable in point of technical distinctness, cannot be justly
censured as the slightest deviation &om our habitual forms of
speech. On the same grounds, it may be fiiirly questioned,
whether the word Reason would not, on some occasions, be the
best substitute which our language affords for tntutWon, in that
enlarged acceptation which has been given to it of late. If
not quite so definite and precise as might be wished, it would
be at least employed in one of those significations in which it
is already familiar to every ear ; whereas the meaning of intui*
tion, when used for the same purpose, is stretched very far
beyond its ordinary limits. And in cases of this sort, where we
have to choose between two terms, neither of which is altogether
unexceptionable, it will be' found much safer to trust to the oon-

BEASOK. 399

text for restricting, in the reader's mind, what is too general,
than for enlarging what nse has accustomed us to interpret in a
sense too narrow.*

* I In his " Account of the Life and Writings of Dr. Beid/' Mr. Stewart
remarks, " that the question abont the propriety of the phrase common
tense must be decided hj an appeal to general practice ; for, althoagh it be
allowable, and even necessary, for a philosopher to limit the acceptation of
words which are employed yagnely in common discourse, it is always
dangerous to give to a word a scientific meaning essentially distinct from
that in which it is usuaUy understood. It has, at least, the effect of mislead-
ing those who do not enter deeply into the subject ; and of giving a para*
doxicol appearance to doctrines, which, if expressed in more unexception*
able terms, would be readily admitted.

" It appears to me, that this has actually happened in the present in-
stance. The phrase common sense, as it is generally understood, is nearly
synonymous with mother wit, denoting that degree of sagacity, depending
partly on original capacity, and partly on personal experience and observa-
tion, which qualifies an individual for those simple and essential occupa-
tions which all men are called on to exercise habitually by their common
nature. In this acceptation, it is. opposed to those mental acquirements
which are derived from a regular education and from the study of books ; and
refers, not to the speculative convictions of the understanding, but to that
piiidence and discretion which are the foundation of successful conduct.
Bach is the idea which Pope annexes to the word, when, speaking of good
sense, which means only a more than ordinary share of common sense, he
calls it

" the gift of heaven.
And though no science, fiiirly worth the seven."

" To speak, accordingly, of appealing from the conclusions of philosophy
to common sense, had the appearance, to title-page readers, of appealing
from the verdict of the learned to the voice of the multitude ; or of at-
tempting to silence free discussion, by a reference to some arbitrary and
undefinable standard, distinct from any of the intellectual powers hitherto
enumerated by logicians. Whatever countenance may be supposed to
have been given by some writers to such an interpretation of this mode
of expression, I may venture to assert that none is afforded by the works
of Dr. Beid. The standard to which he appeals, is neither the creed of
a particular sect, nor the inward light of enthusiastic presumption ; hnt
that constitution of haman nature, without which aU the business of the world
toould immediately cease) and the substance of his doctrine amounts merely
to this, that those essential laws of belief, to which skeptics have objected when
OLt/kuidgred in connection loith our scientific reasonings, are implied in every step

400 KKA80H.

I must add, too^ in oppooidon to tlie high anUuMities of Dr.
Johnson and Dr. Beattioi thai, for many jeara past, Bea§<m has
been yery seldom used by philosophical writers, €r, indeed, by
correct writers of any description, as synonymous with the
power of reanmng* To appeal to the light of human reason
fix>m the reasonings of the schools, is surely an expression to

we tahtoioictioe hangs; andifeattedm qmedum hg angwan in hUpradiad
eoneerm, would expose him wnvencdbf to the dkaye €f inoanity."

Sir William Hamilton adheres to the phrase PhUMophg of Commom, Seme,
and tbos aignes in iayor of its strictly scientific and authoritative char-
acter. " Uow, it is asked, do these primaiy propositions — these oog:nitions
at first hand — these fundamental facts, feelings, beliefs, certify us of their
own veracity 1 To this the only possible answer is — that as elements of
our mental constitution — as the essential conditions of our knowledge —
they must by us be accepted as true. To suppose their falsehood, is to
suppose that we are created capable of intelligence, in order to be made
the victims of delusion ; that God is a deceiver, and the root of our nature
a lie. But such a supposition, if gratuitous, is manifesdj illegitimate.
For, on the contrary, the data of our original conscionsness must, it is
evident, in the fint itutance, be presumed true. It is only if proved false,
Uiat their authority can, in anuequaux of that proof, be, in the second in-
stance, disallowed. Speaking, therefore, generally, to argue from common
sense, is simply to show, that the denial of a given proposition would
involve the denial of some original datum of consciousness ; but as every
original datum of consciousness is to be presumed true, that the proposi-
tion in question, as dependent on such a principle, must be admitted.

" Here, however, it is proper to take a distinction between the data or
deliverance of conscionsness considered simply, in thenudves, a» appre-
hended facts or actual manifestatums, and those deliverances considered cr«
testimonies to the truth of facts hofond their own phenomenal reality,

" Viewed under the former limitation, they are beyond all skepticism.
For as doubt is itself only a manifestation of consciousness, it is impoasi-
blc to doubt that, what amsdousness manifests it does manifest^ withoat, in
thus doubting, doubting that we actually doubt ; that is, without the doubt
contradicting and therefore annihilating itself. Hence it is, that the facts
of consciousness, as mere phenomena, are, by the unanimous confession
of all Skeptics and Idealists, ancient and modem, placed high above the
reach of question.

" Though the argument from common sense is an appeal to the natural
convictions of mankind, it is not an appeal from philosophy to blind feel-
ing It is only an appeal from the heretical conclusions of particular

BSA80K. 401

which no good objection can J>e made, on the score either of
vagueness or of noveltj. Nor has the etymological affinity be*
tween these two words, the slightest tendency to throw any
obscurity on the foregoing expression. On the contrary, this
affinity may be of use in some of our future arguments, by

philosophers, to the catholic principles of all philosophy. The prejudice
which, on this supposition, has sometimes heen excited against the argu-
ment, is groundless.

"Nor is it true, that the argument from common sense denies the decision
to the judgment of philosophers, and accords it to the vei-dict of the vul-
gar. Nothing can he more erroneous. We admit — nay, wo maintain, as
D'Alembert well expresses it, " that the truth in metaphysic, like the truth
in matters of taste, is a truth of which all minds have the germ within
themselves ; to which, indeed, the greater number pay no attention, but
which they recognize the moment it is pointed out to them. But if, in this
sort, all are able to understand, all are not able to instruct. The merit of
conveying easily to others true and simple notions, is much greater than
is commonly supposed; for experience proves how rarely this is to be
met with. Sound metaphysical ideas are common truths which every one
apprehends, but which few have the talent to develop. So difficult is
it, on any subject, to make our own what belongs to every one." Or, to
employ the words of the ingenious Lichtenberg — " Philosophy, twist the
matter as we may, is always a sort of chemistry. The peasant employs
all the principles of abstract philosophy, only enveloped, kUent, engaged, as
the men of physical science express it ; the philosopher exhibits the pure
principle."

" The first problem of Philosophy — and it is one of no easy accom-
plishment"— being thus to seek out, purify, and establish, by intellectual
analysis and criticism, the elementary feelings or belief, in which are
given the elementary truths of which all are in possession ; and the argu-
ment from common sense being the allegation of these feelings or beliefs
as explicated and ascertained, in proof of the relative truths and their
necessary consequences; — this argument is manifestly dependent on
philosophy, as an art, as an acquired dexterity, and cannot, notwithstand-
ing the errors which they have so frequently committed, be taken out of
the liands of the philosophers. Common Sense is like Common Law.
Each may be laid down as the general rule of decision ; but in the one
case, it must be left to the jurist, in the other, to the philosopher, to
ascertain what are the contents of the rule ; and though, in both instances,
the common man may be dted as a witness, for the custom or the fitct,
in neither can he be allowed to officiate as advocate or as judge.*' —
Si^pplementary DigsertcOions to Beid, pp. 743, 744, 751, 752.]

34*

402 BKA80H.

keeping constaiktlj in view, the dose and inseparable connection
which will be afterwards shown to exist between the two differ-
ent intellectaal operations which are thus brooght into immedi-
ate contrast

Opinions of the ancients respecting the argument from «nt-
versal 0on«eftt—^ Those things are to be regarded as first
truths, [si^s Aristotle,] the credit of which is not derived from
other truths, but is inherent in themselves. As for probable
truths, they are such as are admitted by all men, or bj the gen-
erality of men, or by wise men ; and, among these last, either
by all the wise, or by the generality of the wise, or by such of
the wise as are of the highest authority-**

The argument from Universal Consent, on which so much
stress is laid by many of the ancients, is the same doctrine with
the foregoing, under a form somewhat different It is stated
with great simplicity and force by a Platonic philosopher, [Max-
imus Tyrius,] in the following sentences : —

^In such a contest, and tumult, and disagreement, (about
other matters of opinion,) you may see this one law and lan-
guage acknowledged by common accord. This the Greek says,
and this the barbarian says ; and the inhabitant of the conti-
nent, and the islander ; and the wise, and the unwise.**

Objection to which the argument is UcMe. — It cannot be
denied, that against this summary species of logic, when em-
ployed without any collateral lights, as an infallible touchstone
of philosophical truth, a strong objection immediately occurs.
By what test, it may be asked, is a principle of common sense
to be distinguished from one of those prejudices to which the
whole human race are irresistibly led, in the first instance, by
the very constitution of their nature ? If no test or criterion
of truth can be pointed out but universal consent, may not
all those errors which Bacon has called idola tribuSf* claim a

* {1Mb of the I^ribe, as ihey are called in the {andfiil nomendatore of
liord Bacon, are the errors and prejudices to which aU men (the whole
Iri&f) are liable, because they grow oat of the natural imperfections and
biases of the hnman understanding. ** For the light of the human iut»t

SEASON. 403

right to admission among the incontrovertihle maxims of sci-
ence ? And might not the popular cavils against the supposi-
tion of the earth's motion, which so long obstructed the prog-
ress of the Copemican system have been legitimately opposed,
as a reply of paramount authority, to all the scientific reason-
ings by which it was supported ?

Onteria of First Truths, — It is much to be wished that this
objection, of which Dr. Reid could not fail to be fully aware,
had been more particularly examined and discussed in some of
his publications, than he seems to have thought necessary.
From different parts of his works, however, various important
hints towards a satisfactory answer to it might be easily col-
lected. At present, I shall only remark, that although univer-
sality of belief is one of the tests by which, according to him, a
principle of common sense is characterized, it is not the only
test which he represents as essential. Long before his time,
Father Buffier, in his excellent treatise on First Truths, had
laid great stress on two other circumstances, as criteria to be
attended to on such occasions ; and although I do not recollect
any passage in Reid where they are so explicitly stated, yet the
general spirit of his reasonings plainly shows, that he had them
constantly in view, in all the practical applications of his doc*
trine. The first criterion mentioned by Bufiier is, " That ^e
tnUhs assumed as maxims of common sense should he such, that
it is impossible for any disputant either to defend or to aUack
ihem, but by means of propositions which are neither more mani^
fest nor more certain than the propositions in question." The

lect," says Lord Bacon, " is not dry light ; but it receives diverse stains
and hues from the will and the affections, and thus creates such sciences
as it longs for ; for it readily believes what it wishes to be true." And
again, " It is wrong to say, that the senses are the proper measures of
things ; for all our perceptions, whether of sense or of the intellect, conform
rather to the nature of the observer, than to the nature of the thing ob-
served. The human mind is like a mirror imperfectly polished and inac-
curately shaped, which imparts its own qualities to the objects reflected
in it, distorting and staining them.'* — Nov, Organum, Aph. XLI. and
XLIX paraphrased.]

404 BEASOK.

Becoiid criterion is, ^ 7%xi their practiced tnjluence should
extend even to those individuals who affect to dispute their
authority.**

To these remarks of Buffier, it may not be altogether saper-
fluous to |idd, that, wherever a prejudice is found to obtain uni-
Tcrsallj among mankind in any stage of society, this pr^udice
must have some foundation in the general principles of our
nature, and must proceed upon some truth or fact inaccurately
apprehended or erroneously applied. The suspense of judg-
ment, therefore, which is proper with respect to particular opin-
ions, till they be once fairly examined, can never justify scepti-
cism with respect to the general laws of the human mind. Our
belief of the sun's motion, is not a conclusion to which we are
iteeessarHy led by any such law, but an inference rashly drawn
irom the perceptions of sense, which do not warrant such an
inference. All that we see is, that a relative change of position
between us and the sun takes place ; and this fact^ which is
made known to us by our senses, no subsequent discovery of
philosophy pretends to disprove. It is not, therefore, the evi-
dence of perception which is overturned by the Copemican
system, but a judgment or inference of the understanding, of
the rashness of which every person must be fully sensible, the
moment he is made to reflect with due attention on the circum-
stances of the case ; and the doctrine which this system substi-
tutes, instead of our first crude apprehensions on the subject, is
founded, not on any process of reasoning a priori^ but on the
demonstrable inconsistency of these apprehensions with the
various phenomena which our perceptions present to us. Had
Copernicus not only asserted the stability of the sun, but, with
some of the Sophists of old, denied that any such thing as mo-
tion exists in the universe, his theory would have been precisely
analogous to that of the non-existence of matter ; and no answer
to it could have been thought of more pertinent and philosoplu*
cal, than that which Plato is said to have given to the same
paradox in the mouth of Zeno, by rising up and walking befiu^
his eyes.

BBA80NIN0 AND DBDUCTIYE KYIDBNCB. 405

CHAPTER IX.

OF BEASONIHO AND OF DEDUOTIYB EYIDEKCE.

L Doubts with respect to LoMs distinction between the poivers
of intuition and reasoning. — Although, in treating of this
branch of the philosophy of the mind, I have followed the
example of preceding writers, so far as to speak of intuition
and reasoning as two different faculties of the understanding, I
am hy no means satisfied that there exists hetween them that
radical distinction which is commonly apprehended. Dr. Beattie,
in his Essay on Truth, has attempted to show, that, how closely
soever they may in general be connected, yet that this connec-
tion is not necessary ; insomuch that a being may be conceived
endued with the one, and at the isame time destitute of the other.
Something of this kind, he remarks, takes place in dreams and
in madness ; in both of which states of the system, the power
of reckoning appears occasionally to be retained in no inconsider-
able degree, while the power of intuition is suspended or lost*
But this doctrine is liable to obvious and to insurmountable ob-
jections ; and has plainly taken its rise from the vagueness of
the phrase common setise, which the author employs, through the
whole of his argument, as synonymous with the power of tn^ui-
tion. Of the indissoluble connection between the last power

* [Locke very acately observes, that the difitBrence between an idiot and
a madman consists in this ; — that a madman reasons correctly from wrong
premises, while an idiot does not reason at all. " Thus yon shall find
a distracted man fancying himself a king, and, with a right inference,
reqniring suitable attendance, respect, and obedience ; others, who haye
thoQght themselves made of glass, have used the caution necessary to
preserve such brittle bodies." Now the wrong premises that the madman
tdopts are often ^Um teiuations, as the medical men call them; as when on«

41)6 BBABOinirO A2il> DBDUCTIYB KVIDENCB.

and that of reaaoning, no other proof is necessary than the fol-
lowing consideration, that, ^ in every step which reason makes
in demonstrative knowledge, there must be intuitive certainty ; "
a proposition which Locke has excellently illustrated, and which,
since his time, has been acquiesced in, so far as I know, by
philosophers of all descriptions. From this proposition (which,
when properly interpreted, appears to me to be perfectly just)
it obviously follows, that the power of recwming prewpposeif the
power of intuition; and, therefore, the only question about
which any doubt can be entertained is, whether the power of in-
tuition (according to Locke's idea of it) does not also imphf that
of recuoning f My own opinion is, decidedly, that it does ; at
least, when combined with the faculty of memory. In examin-
ing those processes of thought which conduct the mind by a
series of consequences from premises to a conclusion, I can
detect no intellectual act whatever, which the joint operation of
intuition and of memory does not sufficiently explain.

Reasoning resolved into intuition and memory. — Before, how-
ever, proceeding further in this discussion, it is proper for me to
observe, by way of comment on the proposition just quoted from
Locke, that, although " in a complete demonstration, there must
be intuitive evidence at every step," it is not to be supposed
that, in every demonstration, all the various intuitive judgments
leading to the conclusion are actually presented to our thoughts.
In by far the greater number of instances, we trust entirely to
judgments resting upon the evidence of memory ; by the help
of which faculty, we are enabled to connect together the most
remote truths, with the very same confidence as if the one were
an immediate consequence of the other. Nor does this diminish.

fancies that he bears voices in the air, or sees spectres, the voices and the
sights being alike unreal. These imaginary perceptions woald be denomi-
nated by Kant^o^ irUuitians; and if this be a proper use of langnage,
Beattie properly distinguishes intuition from reasoning, when he affirms that
we can conceiye of a being endued with the one, and destitute of the other.
An insane person is such a being ; he reasons rightly, but his intuitiTe
faculty is perverted. But Stewart here understands intuition to be, not a
perception, but an ins anUuwout judgment,]

BEA80NIK0 AKD DEDUCTIVE EVIDENCE. 407

in the smallest degree, the satisfaction we feel in following such
a train of reasoning. On the contrary, nothing can be more
disgusting than a demonstration where even the simplest and
most obvious steps are brought forward to view ; and where no
appeal is made to that stock of previous knowledge which
memorj has identified with the operations of reason. Still,
however, it is true, that it is by a continued chain of intuitive
judgments, that the whole science of geometry hangs together ;
inasmuch as the demonstration of any one proposition virtually
includes all the previous demonstrations to which it refers.

Hence it appears, that, in mathematical demonstrations, we
have not, at every step, the immediate evidence of intuition, but
only the evidence of memory. Every demonstration, however,
may be resolved into a series of separate judgments, either
formed at the moment, or remembered as the results of judg-
ments formed at some preceding period ; and it is in the arrange-
ment and concatenation of these different judgments, or media
of proof, that the inventive and reasoning powers of the mathe-
matician find so noble a field fi)r their exercise.

With respect to these powers of judgment and of reasoning,
as they are here combined, it appears to me, that the results of
the former may be compared to a collection of separate stones
prepared by the chisel for the purposes of the builder ; upon
each of which stones, while lying on the ground, a person may
raise himself, as upon a pedestal, to a small elevation. The
Bame judgments, when combined into a train of reasoning, ter-
minating in a remote condnsion, resemble the formerly uncon-
nected blocks, when converted into the steps of a staircase
leading to the summit of a tower, which would be otherwise
inaccessible. In the design and execution of this staircase,
much skill and invention may be displayed by the architect ;
but, in order to ascend it, nothing more is necessary than a
repetition of the act by which the first step was gained. The
fact I conceive to be somewhat analogous, in the relation between
the power of judgment, and what logicians call the discursive
processes of the understanding.

Itecwming is a succeaUm of iniuiiwe judgments. — Mr.

406 EBASOimro avd dsductitb syiDBiros*

Lockfi'8 language, in varioos parts of liia E88a7, seems to accord
nrith the same opinion. ^ Every step in reasoning," he observes,
^ that produces knowledge, has intuitive certainty ; which, when
the mind perceives, there is no more lequired but to remember
it, to make the agreement or disagreement of the ideas, concern-
ing which we inquire, visible and certain. This intuitive per-
ception of the agreement or disagreement of the intermediate
ideas, in each step and progression of the demonstration, must
also be carried exacdy in the mind, and a man must be sure that
no part is left out ; which, in long deductions, and in the use of
many proofs, the memory does not always so readily and exactly
retain ; therefore it comes to pass, that this is more imperfect
than intuitive knowledge, and men embrace often fidsehood for
demonstrations;''

The same doctrine is stated elsewhere by Mr. Locke, more
tiian once, in terms equally explicit; and yet his language
occasionally fitvors the supposition, that, in its deductive pro-
cesses, the mind exhibits some modification of reason essentially
distinct from intuition. The account, too, which he has given
of their respective provinces, affords evidence that his notions
concerning them were not sufficiently precise and settled.
^ When the mind," says he, ^ perceives the agreement or disa-
greement of two ideas immediately by themselves, without the
intervention of any other, its knowledge may be called intui-
tive. When it cannot so bring its ideas together as, by their
immediate comparison, and, as it were, juxtaposition, or appli-
cation one to another, to perceive their agreement or disagree-
ment, it is fain, by the intervention of other ideas, (one or
more as it happens,) to discover the agreement or disagreement
which it searches ; and this is that which we call reajsoning.**
According to these definitions, supposing the equality of two
lines, A and B, to be perceived immediately, in consequence of
their coincidence, the judgment of the mind is intuitive. Sup-
posing A to coincide with B, and B with C ; the relation be-
tween A and C is perceived by reasoning. Nor is this a hasty
inference from Locke's accidental language. That it is per-
fectly f^preeable to the foregoing definitions, as understood by

BBA80HINO AHD DKDUOTIYS BVIDENCB. 409

their author, appears firmn the following passage, which occurs
afterwards : ^ The principal act of ratiocination is the finding
the agreement or disagreement of two ideas, one with another,
by the intervention of a third. As a man, bj a jard, finds two
bouses to be of the same length, which could not be brought
together to measure their equality by juxtaposition."

This use of the words intuition and recuaning^ is surely some-
what arbitrary. The truth of mathematical axioms has always
been supposed to be intuitively obvious ; and the first of these,
according to Euclid's enumeration, affirms, that if A be equal to
B, and B to C, A and C are equaL Admitting, however,
Locke's definition to be just, it only tends to confirm what has
been already stated with respect to the near affinity, or rather
the radical identity, of intuition and of reasoning. When the
relation of equality between A and B has once been perceived,
A and B are completely identified as the same mathematical
quantity ; and the two letters may be regarded as synonymous,
wherever they occur* The faculty, therefore, which perceives
the relation between A and C, is the same with the faculty
which perceives the relation between A and B, and between
B and C*

* [Stewart's doctrine, that reaioning is nothing more than a series of inta*
itiye judgments, seems to be tme according to one signification of the word
reasoning f and false according to another. The word reasoning is sometimes
used to denote a series of propositions, or syllogisms, properly arranged,
which constitate Ihe proof of a particular doctrine ; but it more frequently
denotes, that act or process of the mind, by which the proper syllo-
gisms, or intermediate propositions, are discoyered and rightly put to-
gether, so as to constitute such a proof. This effort of mind may be a
very laborious and difficult one, and would be improperly designated by
audi a word as intuition, which implies ease and instantaneousness of
operation. Take the geometrical theorem, that the square described on
the hypothenose of a ri^t-angled triangle is equal to the sum of the
iqnares on the two other sides ; it is proved by a series of propositions,
the connection of each one of which with its predecessor, is seen intui-
tively. But if the old story is tme, Pythagoras was so overjoyed when,
after long study, he had succeeded in discovering these propositions, and
patting them together so as to constitate a proof of the theorem, that he
sacrificed a hecatomb of oxen to show his gratitude to the gods.]

35

410 BSASONIKO Ain> DSDrCTITB XTmSHOB.

In fbrther oonfirmatioii of the ssiue proposition, an appeid
might be made to the structure of syllogisms. Is it possible to
conceive an understanding so formed, as to perceive the truth
of the major and of the minor propositions, and yet not to per-
ceive the force of the conclusion ? The contrary must appear
evident to every person who knows what a syllogism is ; or,
rather, as in this mode of stating. an argument, the mind is led
from universals to particulars, it must appear evident, that, in
the very statement of the major proposition, the truth of the
conclusion is presupposed; insomuch, that it was not without
good reason Dr. Campbell hazarded the epigrammatic, yet un-
answerable remark, that ^ there is always some radical defect
In a syllogism, which is not chargeable with that species of
sophism, known among logicians by the name of petUio prin^
eipii, or a begging of the question.**

^ what regpect intuition diffen from reasoning. — The idea
which is commonly annexed to intuitiouj as opposed to recuon^
ing, turns, I suspect, entirely on the circumstance of time. The
former, we conceive to be instantaneous; whereas the latter
necessarily involves the notion of succession^ or of progress.
This distinction is sufficiently precise for the ordinary purposes
of discourse ; nay, it supplies us, on many occasions, with a
convenient phraseology ; but in the theory of the mind, it has
led to some mistaken conclusions, on which I intend to offer a
few remarks in the second part of this section.

2. Conclusions obtained hy a process of deduction often mit-
taken for intuitive judgments, — It has been frequently re*
marked, that the justest and most efficient understandings are
often possessed by men who are incapable of stating to others,
or even to themselves, the grounds on which they proceed in
forming their decisions. In some instances, I have been dis-
posed to ascribe this to the faults of early education ; but in
other cases, I am persuaded that it was the effect of active and
imperious habits in quickening the evanescent processes of
thought, so as to render them untraceable by the memory ; and
to give the appearance of intuition to wliat was, in fact, the re-
sult of a train of reasoning so rapid as ti> escape notice. Thii

REASONINQ AND DEDUCTIVE EVIDENCE. 411

I conceive to be the true theory of what is generaUy caUed
common sense, in opposition to book learning ; and it serves to
account for the use which has been made of this phrase, by
various writers, as synonymous with intuition.

Instantaneous judgments mort trustworthy than deUherately
formed conclusions. — These seemingly instantaneous judg-
ments have always appeared to me as entitled to a greater
share of our confidence, than many of our more deliberate con-
clusions ; inasmuch as they have been forced, as it were, on the
mind by the lessons of long experience ; and are as little liable
to be biased by temper or passion, as the estimates we form of
the distances of visible objects. They constitute, indeed, to
those who are habitually engaged in the busy scenes of life, a
sort of peculiar faculty, analogous, both in its origin and in its
use, to the coup rf* ceil of the military engineer, or to the quick
and sure tact of the medical practitioner, in marking the diag-
nostics of disease.

For this reason, I look upon the distinction between our intu-
itive and deductive judgments as, in many cases, merely an
object of theoretical curiosity. In those simple conclusions
which all men are impelled to form, by the necessities of their
nature, and in which we find an uniformity not less constant
than in the acquired perceptions of sight, it is of as little conse-
quence to the logician to spend his time in efforts to retrace the
first steps of the infant understanding, as it would be to the
sailor or the sportsman to study, with a view to the improve-
ment of his eje, the Berkeleian theory of vision. In both
instances, the original faculty and the acquired judgment are
equally entitled to be considered as the work of nature ; and in
both instances, we find it equaUy impossible to shake off her
authority. It is no wonder, therefore, that, in popular language,
such words as common sense and reason should be used with a
considerable degree of latitude ; nor is it of much importance
to the philosopher. to aim at extreme nicety in defining their
province, where all mankind, whether wise or ignorant, think
and speak alike.

In some rare and anomalous cases, a rapidity of judgment in

412 BCASOiriHG AND DEDUOTIYE KYXDXNGB.

tlie more complicated concerns of life, appeans in individuals
who have had so few opportunities of profiting by experience,
that it seems, on a superficial view, to be the immediate gift of
heaven. But, in all such instances, (although a great deal must
undoubtedly be ascribed to an inexplicable aptitude or predis-
position of the intellectual powers,) we may be perfectly
assured, that every judgment of the understanding is preceded
by a process of reasoning or deduction, whether the individual
himself be able to recollect it or not Of this I can no more
doubt, than I could bring myself to believe that the arithmeti-
cal prodigy who has, of late, so justiy attracted the attention
of the curious, is able to extract square and cube roots by an
instinctive and instantaneous perception, because the process
of mental calculation, by which he is led to the result, eludes
all his efibrts to recover it.

We may often judge rightly y while we recuon ilL — It is
remarked by Mr. Hume, with respect to the elocution of
Oliver Cromwell, that ^it was always confused, embarrassed,
and unintelligible." ^ The great defect, however,'' he adds, ^ in
Oliverfs speeches consisted, not in his want of elocution, but in
his want of ideas ; the sagacity of his actions, and the absurdity
of his discourse, forming the most prodigious contrast that ever
was known." ^ In the great variety of human geniuses," says
the same historian, upon a different occasion, ^ there are some
which, though they see their object clearly and distinctly in
general, yet when they come to unfold its parts by discourse
or writing, lose that luminous conception whidi they have before
attained. All accounts agree in ascribing to Cromwell a tire-
some, dark, unintelligible elocution, even when he had no inten-
tion to disguise his meaning ; yet no man*s actions were ever, in
such a variety of difficult incidents, more decisive and judicious."

The case here described may be considered as an extreme
one ; but every person of common observation must recollect
facts somewhat analogous, which have fallen under his own
notice. Indeed, it is no more than we should expect, apriorij
to meet with, in every individual whose early habits have trained
him more to the active business of the world, than to those pur-

BEASONIKG AND DSBUCTIVE EVIDCKCE. 418

suits which prepare the mind for communicating io others its
ideas and feelings with clearness and effect

An anecdote which I heard many years ago^ of a late very
eminent Judge, (Lord Mansfield,) has often recurred to my
memory, while refecting on these apparent inconsistencies of
intellectual character. A friend of liis, who possessed excellent
natural talents, but who had been prevented, by his professional
duties as a naval officer, from bestowing on them all the cultiva-
tion of which they were susceptible, having been recently ap-
pointed to the government of Jamaica, happened to express
some doubts of his competency to preside in the Court of
Chancery. Lord Mansfield assured him that he would find the
difficulty not so great as he apprehended. " Trust," he said,
^ to your own good sense in forming your opinions ; but beware
of attempting to state the grounds of your judgments. The
judgment will probably be right — the argument will infallibly
be wrong."

From what has been said, it seems to follow, that although a
man should happen to reason ill in support of a sound conclu-
sion, we are by no means entitled to infer with confidence, that
he judged right merely by accident. It is far from being im-
possible, that he may have committed some mistake in stating to
others (perhaps in retracing to himself) the grounds upon which
his judgment was really founded. Indeed, this must be the
case, wherever a shrewd understanding in business is united
with an incapacity for clear and luminous reasonings ; and some-
thing of the same sort is incident, more or less, to all men (more
particularly to men of quick parts) when they make an attempt,
in discussions concerning human affairs, to remount to first prin-
ciples. It may be added, that in the old, this correctness of
judgment oflen remains, in a surprising degree, long after the
discursive or argumentative power would seem, from some decay
of attention, or confusion in the succession of ideas, to have
been sensibly impaired by age or by disease.

II. Of 6ENBBAL REASONING. Of lonffuoge considered OS an
instrument of thought. — In treating of ahstractionf I endea¥<

35*

A14 MEkBOnMG AMD DSDVCTITK SnDKHC&

ored to Bbow tbal we Uunk, u well as speak^ by means
ef wordsy and tbaft, witlioot tlie use of language, our leasoDuig
&eakjf if it eonld have been at all exercised, most neoessarilj
bare been limited to particalar condnsions alone. The efiectSi
therefore, of ambigaons and indefinite terms are not confined to
oar commnnifalions with others, bat extend to oar private and
solitary speculations. Dr. Campbell, in his Philosophj of Bhet-
one, has made some jodicioas and important observations <m
this subject ; and, at a much earlier period, it drew the attenti<m
of Des Gartes; who, in the coarse of a verj Taloable discus-
sion with respect to the sources of our errors, has laid paiticnlar
stress on those to which we are exposed from the employment
of language as an instrument d thought ^ And, last]y,in con-
sequence of the habitual use of speech, all our ideas beocMne
associated with the words in which we express them ; nor do we
ever ccmimit these ideas to memory, without their accustomed
signs. Hence it is, that there is hardly any one subject, of
which we have so distinct a notion as to be able to think of it
abstracted from all use of language ; and, indeed, as we remem-
ber wards more easily than things, our thoughts are much more
conversant with the former than with the latter. Hence, too, it
is, that we often yield our assent to propositions, the meaning
of which we do not understand ; imagining that we have either
examined formerly the import of all the terms invdved in them,
or that we have adopted these terms on the auth<Hrity of others
upon whose judgment we can rely."

To these important considerations, it may be worth while to
add, that whatever improvements may yet be made in language
by philosophers, they can never relieve the student fr<(mi the
indispensable task of analyzing with accuracy the complex ideas
he annexes to the terms employed in his reasonings. The use
of general terms, as Locke has remarked, is learned, in many
cases, before it is possible for us to comprehend their meaning ;
and the greater part of mankind continue to use them through
life, without ever being at the trouble to examine accurately
the notions they convey. This is a study which every individual

XSASONINO AKD DEDUCTIYB EYIDENOS. 415

must carry on for himself; and of which no rules of logic (how
useful soever thej may be in directing our labors) can super-
sede the necessity.

Necesnty of a eauHam u$e of wards. — Of the essential
utility of a cautious employment of words, both as a medium
of communication, and as an instrument of thought, many strik-
ing illustrations might be produced from the hbtory of science
during the time that the scholastic jargon was current among
the learned ; a technical phraseology, which was not only ill-
calculated for the discovery of truth, but which was dexter-
ously contrived for the propagation of error ; and which gave
to those who were habituated to the use of it, great advantages
in controversy, at least in the judgment of the multitude, over
their more enlightened and candid opponents. '^A blind wres-
tler, by fighting in a dark chamber," to adopt an allusion of Des
Cartes, ^ may not only conceal his defect, but may enjoy some
advantages over those who see. It is the light of day only
that can discover his inferiority." The imperfections of this
philosophy, accordingly, have been exposed by Des Cartes and
bis followers, less by the force of their reasonings, than by their
teaching men to make use of their own faculties, instead of
groping in the artificial darkness of the schools ; and to perceive
the folly of expecting to advance science, by ringing changes on
words to which they annexed no dear or precise ideas.

In consequence of the influence of these views, the attention
of our soundest philosophers was more and more turned, dur-
ing the course of the last century, to the cultivation of that
branch of logic which relates to the use of words. Mr. Locke's
observations on this subject form, perhaps, the most valuable
part of his writings ; and, since his time, much additional light
has been thrown upon it by Condillac and his successors.

I%e art of reasoning requires something besides a language
well contrived, — Important, however, as this branch of logic is
in its practical applications; and highly interesting, from its
intimate connection with the theory of the human mind, there
is a possibility of pushing to an erroneous and dangerous ex-
treme the conclusions to which it has led. Condillac hini^lf

416 BBAsmmro Ain> j>mDvcrnrm svmBiroK.

fiillfly in DO inoooBiderable a degree, under this censure ; havings
upon more than one occadon, expressed himself as if he con-
ceived it to be possible, b^ means of predse and definite terms,
to rednce reasoning in all the sciences to a sort of mechanical
operation, analogous in its nature to those which are practised
hj the algebraist on letters of the alphabet. ^The art of
reasoning (he repeats over and over) is nothing more than a
language well arranged."

One of the first persons, as far as I know, who objected to
the vagueness and inoonreetness of this proposition, was M. De
Gerando ; to whom we are further indebted for a dear and sat*
isfiictorj exposition of the very important fiict to which it
relates.

^ It is the distinguishing characteristic of a lively and vigor-
ous conception," he remarks, ^ to push its speculative condn*
sions somewhat beyond their just limits. Hence, in the logical
discussions of this estimable writer, these maxims, (stated with-
out any explanation or restriction,) ' That the study of a science
is nothing more than the acquisition of a language ; * and, ' that
a science properly treated, is only a language well contrived.'
Hence the rash assertion, * That mathematics possess no advan-
tage over other sciences, but what they derive frran a better
phraseology ; and that all of these might attain to the same
characters pf simplidty and of certainty, if we knew how to
give them signs equally perfect' "

^ The same task which must have been executed by those
who contributed to the first formation of a language, and which
is executed by every child when he learns to speak it, is re-
peated over in the mind of every adult, when he makes use of
his mother tongue ; for it is only by the decomposition of his
thoughts, that he can learn to select the signs which he ought
to employ, and to dispose them in a suitable order. Accord*
ingly, those external actions which we call speaking cr writing^
are always accompanied with a philosophical process of the un^
derstanding, unless we content ourselves, as too often happens,
with repeating over mechanically what has been said by others.
It is in this respect that languages, with their forms and rulea^

EEASONING AHD DEDVOTIVE BYIDEirCB. 417

conducting (so to speak) those who use them into the path of a
regular analysis ; tracing out to them, in a well-ordered dis-
oourse, the model of a perfect decomposition, may be regarded
in a certain sense as analytical methods. But I stop short :
Condillacy to whom this idea belongs, has developed it too well
to leave any hope of improving upon his statement''

In a note upon this passage, however, M. De Gerando has
certainly improved not a little on the statement of Condillac
" In asserting," says he, ^ that languages may be regarded as
analytical methods, I have added the qualifying phrase, in a
certain sensey for the word method cannot be employed here with
exact propriety. Languages furnish the occasions and the
means of analysis ; thai is to say^ they afford us assistance in
following that method ; hut they are not the method itself They
resemble signals or finger-posts placed on a road, to enable us
to discover our way ; and if they help us to analyze, it is be*
cause they are themselves the results, and, as it were, the mon-
uments, of an analysis which has been previously made ; nor do
they contribute to keep us in the right path, but in proportion
to the degree of judgment with which that analysis has been
conducted.'*

Visionary theories of some logicians, occasioned by their inat'^
tention to the essential distinction between mathematics and other
sciences, — In a passage already quoted from De Gerando, he
takes notice of what he justly calls a rash assertion of Condillac,
^ That mathematics possess no advantage over other sciences,
but what thej derive from a better phraseology ; and that all
oi' these might attain to the same characters of simplicity and of
certainty, if we knew how to give them signs equally perfect"

Leibnitz seems to point at an idea of the same sort, in those
obscure and enigmatical hints (not altogether worthy, in my
opinion, of his powerful and comprehensive genius) which he
has thrown out, about the miracles to be effected by a new art
of his own invention ; to which art he sometimes gives the name
of Ars Combinatoria Cfharacteristica, and sometimes of Ars
Vombinatoria Generalis ac Vera, In one of his letters to Mr.
Oldenburgh, he speaks of a plan he had long been meditatingi

418 BSAflOHnro avd dsductitb wnDMMcm.

of treOing of the ade&oe of numd bj meanfl of malhematica
demoostratioiis. ''Manj wondeifiil thmga," he addsy ''of tfak
kind have ocouned to me ; which, at some fotoie period, I shall
explain to the pnblic with thai logical preeiaion whidi the sob-
ject reqoires." In the same letter, he intimates his belief in
the possibili^ of inventing an art^ ^ which, with an exactitade
lesembling that of mechanism, may render the operations of
reason steady and visible, and, in their eflfects on the minds of
others, irresistible.* Afier which he proceeds thus : —

** Onr common algebra, whidi we jostly valne so highly, is no
more than a branch of that general art which I have here in
view. Bat such as it is, it pots it oat of our power to commit
an error, even altfaoo^ we should wish to do so ; while it ex-
hibits truth to our eyes like a picture stamped on paper by
means of a machine. It must at the same time be recoUected,
that algebra is indebted for whatever it accomplishes in the
demonstration of general theorems to the suggestions of a higher
science ; a science which I have been accustomed to call chtarac'
terisHcal combination; very different^ however, in its nature,
from that which these words are likely at first to suggest to the
hearer. The marvellous utility of this art I hope to illustrate,
both by precepts and examples, if I shall be so fortunate as to
enjoy health and leisure.

*^ It is impossible for me to convey an adequate idea of it in
a short descripticm. But this I may venture to assert, that no
instrument (or organ) could easily be imagined of more power-
ful efficacy for promoting the improvement of the human under-
standing ; and that, supposing it to be adopted, as the common
method of philosophizing, the time would very so<m arrive,
when we should be able to form conclusions concerning God and
the mind, with not less certainty than we do at present concern-
mg figures and numbers."

How the phraseology of mathetnaltcs differs from thai of tk€
other sciences. — In these extracts from Leibnitz, as well as in
that quoted from Condillac, in the beginning of this article, the
essential dbtinction between mathematics and the other sciences,
in point of phraseok)gy, is entirely overlooked. In the farmed

REASONING AND DEDUCTIYB EYIDBNOS. 419

science, where the use of an ambiguous word is impossible^ it may
he easily conceiyed how the solution of a prdblem may be
reduced to something resembling the operation of a miU — the
conditions of the problem, when once translated from the com«
men language into that of algebrts disappearing entirely from
the view ; and the subsequent process being almost mechanically
regulated by general rules, till the final result is obtained. In
the lottery the whole of the words about which our reasonings
are conversant, admits mare or less, of different shades of mean^
ing; and it is only by considering attentively the relation in
which they stand to the immediate context, that the precise idea
of the author in any particular instance is to be ascertained.
Li these sciences, accordingly, the constant and unremitting exer»
cise of the attention is indispensably necessary, to prevent us, at
every step of our progress, from going astray. In following
any train of reasoning, beyond the circle of the mathematical
sciences, the mind must necessarily carry on, along with the
logical deduction expressed in words, another logical process of
a far nicer and more difficult nature; — that of fixing, with a
rapidity which escapes our memory, '<A« precise sense of every
word which is ambiguous, by the relation in which it stands to
the general scope of the argument In proportion as the lan-
guage of science becomes more and more exact, the difficulty
of this task will be gradually diminished ; but let the improve-
ment be carried to any conceivable extent, not one step will bave
been gained in accelerating that era, so sanguinely anticipated
by Leibnitz and Condillac, when our reasonings in morals and
politics shall resemble, in their medianical regularity, and in
their demonstrative certainty, the investigations of algebra. The
improvements which language receives, in consequence of the
progress of knowledge, consisting rather in a more precise dis*
iinction and classification of the various meanings of words^
than in a reduction of these meanings in point of number, the
task of mental induction and interpretati<m may be rendered
more easy and unerring ; but the necessity of this task can never
be superseded, till every word which we employ shall be as

420 EBA80HIN0 AHD DEDUCTITE BTIDSHCS.

fixed and invariable in its signification as an algebrait^d char*
acter or as the name of a geometrical figure.

Sw!ce$$ful 9b»d^ of the moral tetenees depend* on the right in-
terpretation of toords. — In the mean time, the intellectual
superioritj of one man above another, in all the different
branches of moral and political philosophy, will be found to
depend chiefly on the success with which he has cultivated these
sHenl hahiti of inducHve interpretation — much more, in my
opinion, than on his acquaintance with those rules which form
the great objects of study to the professed logician. In proof
of this, it is sufficient for me to remind my readers, that the
whole theory of eyUogiem proceed* on the suppontion that the
tame word is ahcaye to be employed precise^ in the $ame eense,
(for otherwise, the syllogism would be vitiated by consisting of
more than three terms) ; and, consequently, it takes for granted,
in every rule which it furnishes for the guidance of our reason-
ing powers, that the nicest and by Hblt the most difficult part of
the logical process has been previously brought to a successful
termination.

In treating of a different question, I have elsewhere remarked,
that although many authors have spoken of the wonderful
mechanism of speech, no one has hitherto attended to the far
more wonderful mechanism which it puts into action behind the
scene. A similar observation will be found to apply to what is
commonly called the art of reasoning. The schoUistic precepts
which profess to teach it, reach no deeper than the very surface
of the subject ; being all of them confined to that part of the in-
tellectual process which is embodied in the form of verbal prop-
ositions. On the most favorable supposition which can be
formed with respect to them, they are superfluous and nugatory ;
but in many cases, it is to be apprehended, that they interfere
with the right conduct of the understanding, by withdrawing the
attention firom the cultivation of that mental logic on which the
soundness of our conclusions essentially depends, and in the
study of which, although some general rules may be of use^
every man must be, in a great measure, his own master.

SBASOKING AND DEDUCTIVE BYIDBNOS. 421

Why general specuUaion $eems intricate. — In the practical
application of the foregoing conclusions, it cannot fail to occur,
as a consideration equallj obvious and important, that, in pro-
()ortion as the objects of our reasoning are removed from the
particular details with which our senses are conversant, the
diiBcultj of these latent inductive processes must be increased.
This is the real source of that incapacity for general specula-
tion, which Mr. Hume has so well described as a distinguishing
characteristic of uncultivated minds. '^ General reasonings
seem intricate, merelj because thej are general ; nor is it easj
ibr the bulk of mankind to distinguish, in a great number of
particulars, that common circumstance in which thej all agree,
or to extract it, pure and unmixed, from the other superfluous
circumstances. Every judgment or conclusion with them is
particular. They cannot enlarge their views to those imiversal
propositions, which comprehend under them an infinite number
of individuals, and include a whole science in a single theorem.
Their eye is confounded with such an extensive prospect, and
the conclusions deduced from it, even though clearly expressed,
seem intricate and obscure.*'

Difficult, however, and even impossible, as the task of general
speculation is to the bulk of mankind, it is nevertheless true,
that it is the path which leads the cautious and skilful reasoner
to all his most certain, as well as most valuable, conclusions in
morals and in politics. If a theorist, indeed, should expect,
that these conclusions are in every, particular instance to be
realized, he would totally misapprehend their nature and appli-
cation ; inasmuch as they are only to be brought to an experi-
mental test, by viewing them on an extensive scale, and con-
tinuing our observations during a long period of time. " When
a man deliberates,*' says Mr. Hume, " concerning his conduct in
any particular affair, and forms schemes in politics, trade,
economy, or any business in life, he never ought to draw his
arguments too fine, or connect too long a chain of consequences
together. Something is sure to happen that will disconcert his
reasoning, and produce an event different from what he ex-
pected. But when we reason upon general subjects^ one may

36

422 mBAioimro.AiiD vmMfonrm mriDmMctL

jiMtlj aflAnn, ilial oar epeeulatianis can scarcelj ever be too
fine, provided thej be just i and thai the difierence between a
coimBon man and a man of genine, it ehiefl j seen in the shal*
lownest or depth of the fmncipleB on which thej proceed."
The same author afterwards excellentlj obsenreSy *^ That g&ik*
eral principles^ howerer intricate thej maj seem, must always
I»«Tai]^ if thej be just and sound, in the general coarse of
things, though they may fail in particular cases ; and that it is
the chief business a£ philosophers to regard the genovl course
of things." — ^ I may add/' oontinaes Mr. Hume^ *' that it is also
the chief business of politicians, especially in the domestic
gOTemment of the sti^, where ihe puUic good, which is, or
ought to be, their object, depends on the concurrence of a multi*
tude of causes ; not, as in foreign politics, on accidents and
diances, and the caprices of t^ few persons."

Wh^ genierai rule$ 9mMtimn midead iw» — To these prcxfoond
retlections of Mr. Hume, it may be added, although the remark
does not bear directly on our present argument, that, in the
systematical applicatioQ of general and refined rales to their
private concerns, men frequently err frwn cakvhdiing their
mea$ures an a seals ditprop&rtumaU to the ordtnofy duratum of
human Ufe. This is one of the many mistakes into which pro-
jectors are apt to fidh and hence the ruin which so often over-
takes them, while sowing the seeds of a harvest whidi others
are to reap^ A few years more might have secured to tiiem-
selves the prize which they had in view; and changed the
opinion of the worid, (which is always regulated by the aoci-
dental eiroumstances of fitilure w of success^) £nom contempt
of their fblly^ into admiration of their sagacity and persever*-
ance.

It is observed by the Comte de Bussi, that ^ time remedies
all mischances ; and that men die unfortunate, only because they
did not live long enough. Mareschal d'Estr^ who died rich
at a hundred, would have died a beggar, had he lived only to
eighty." The maxim, like most oth^ i^ophthegms, is stated in
terms much too unqualified; but it may furnish matter for
many interesting reflections, to those who hwre surveyed with

MMAMonma ahd DzstrcriTB ktidbkcb. 42t

ftttention ^he diaracters which have passed before them on the
^tage of lii^ ; or who aurasa themselres with marking the tri*
fling and fortnitoiM drciinulaiices bj which the multitade are
decided, in pronoandng their Teidiets of foresight or of improve
idence.

Ill* Of kathbmatzcal DEXoif stbatiok. Cf tk4 tircum*
stanee urn which demomtiraiivt ividence esseniiaify depends. --^
The pecoliaritj of that species of evidence which is called dem-
onstrative, and which so remarkablj dis^goishes oar mathe*
matical conclusions from those to which we are led in othef
branches of science, is a fact which must have arrested the
attention of everj person who possesses the slightest acquaint-
ance with the elements of geometry. And yet I am doubtUd
if a satisfactory account has been hitherto given of the circum-
stance from which it arises. Mr. Locke tells us, that ** what
constitutes a demonstration is intuitive evidence at every step ; "
and I readily grant, that if in a single step such evidence should
fail, the other parts of the demonstration would be of no value.
It does not, however, seem to me that it is on this considerati(m
that the demonstrative evidence of the conclusion depends, —
not even when we add to it another which is much insisted on
by Dr. Beid, -^ that, ^ in demonstrative evidence, our ^r9< prin»
pks must be intuitively certain/' The inaccuracy of this remark
I ^mnerly pointed out, when treating of the evidence of axioms ;
on which occasion I also observed, that the first principles of
our reasonings in mathematics are not axioms, but definitions.
It is in this last circumstance (I mean the peculiarity of reason*
inyfr&m definitions) that the true theory of mathematical dem-
onstration is to be found ; and I shall accordingly endeavor to
explain it at considerable length, and to state some of the more
important consequences to which it leads.

It was already remarked in the eighth chapter, that whereas,
in all other sciences, the propositions which we attempt to
establish, express facts real or supposed, — in mathemaiicsj
the propositions which we demonstrate only assert a connection
between certain suppositions and certain tonsequences* Our
reasonings, therpfore, in mathematics, are Greeted to an object

424 .BBA80NIKG AHD DBDVCnYB BTIDBVCS.

eMentiallj different from what we have in view, in anj othef
emplojment of oar intellectual faculties; — noi to OMcerhUn
tnUh» with rtMpect to actual exUtences^ but to trace the logical
filiation of cotuequeneet which foUow from an atsumed hypothn
em. If from this hypothesis we reason with correctness, noth-
ing, it is manifest, can be wanting to complete the evidence of
the result ; as this result only asserts a necessary connection
between the supposition and the oondusion. In the other
sciences, admitting that every ambiguity of language were
removed, and that every step of our deductions were rigorously
accurate, our conclusions would still be attended with more or
less of uncertainty; being ultimately founded on principles
which may, or may not, correspond exactly with the fact

Demonstrative reasoning might he emphged in the moral
sciences* — Hence, it appears, that it might be possible, by devis*
ing a set of arhitrary definitions, to form a science which,
although conversant about moral, political, or physical ideas,
should yet be as certain as geometry. It is of no moment,
whether the definitions assumed correspond with facts or noty
provided they do not express impossibilities, and be not incon-
sistent with each other. From these principles a series of con-
sequences may be deduced, by the most unexceptionable reason-
ing; and the results obtained will be perfectly analogous to
mathematical, propositions. The terms true and false caniK>t
be applied to them ; at least, in the sense in which they are ap»
plicable to propositions relative to facts. All that can be said
is, that they are, or are not, connected with the definitions which
form the principles of the science ; and, therefore, if we choose
to call our conclusions true in the one case, and fidse in the
other, these epithets must be understood m/erdg to refer to their
connection with the data, and not to their correspondence virith
things actually existing, or with events which we expect to he
realized in future. An example of such a science as that which
I have now been describing, occurs in what has been caUed hy
some writers theoretical mechanics; in which, from arbitrary
hypotheses concerning physical laws, the consequences are
traced which would follow, if such was really the ord^r of

UASOKINO AMD DBDUCTIYS EYIDVNCB. 42S

Ih those branches of study which are conversatit about mora]
and political propositions, the nearest approach which lean
imagine to a hjfpothetuxd science, analogous to mathematics, is to
be found in a code of municipal juritprvdence ; or rather, might
be conceived to ecist in such a code, if systematically earned into
execution, agreeably to certain general or fundamental prin«
ciples. Whether these principles should, or should not, be
founded in justice and expediency, it is evidently possible, by
reasoning from them consequentially, to create an artifieial or
conventional body of knowledge^ more systematiccdj andy at the
same time, more complete in all its parts, than, in the present
state of our information, any science can be rendered, which
ultimately appeals to the eternal and immutable standards of
truth and falsehood, of right and wrong. This consideration
seems to me to throw some light on the following very curious
parallel which Leibnitz has drawn, with what justness I pre-
sume not to decide, between the works of the Roman civilians
and those of the Greek geometers. Few writers certainly have
been so fully qualified as he was, to pronounce on the charac*
teristical merits of both.

^ I have often said, that, afler the writing of geometricians,
there exists nothing which, in point of force and of subtilty, can
be compared to the works of the Roman lawyers. And, as it
would be scarcely possible, from mere intrinsic evidence, to
distinguish a demonstration of Endid's from one of Archim-
edes or of Apollonius, (the style of all of them appearing no
less uniform than if reason herself was speaking through their
organs,) so also the Roman lawyers all resemble each other
like twin-brothers ; insomuch that, from the style alone of any
particular opinion or argument, hardly any conjecture could be
formed with respect to the author. Nor are the traces of a
refined and deeply meditated system of natural jurisprudence
anywhere to be found more visible, or in greater abundance.
And, even in those cases where its principles are departed from,
either in compliance with the language consecrated by technical
forms, or in consequence of new statutes, or of ancient tradi*
tions^ the conclusions which the assumed hypothesis renders it,

36*

42t BBASOiriKO ▲»!> DSDtTCTITS KTID13I0S.

neoesflaiy to incorporate with tiie external dictatet tl rigbt
reason, are deduced with the soundest lof^ and with an in*
genuity which excites admiration. Nor are these deviationd
from the law of nature so frequent as is oonmionlj imagined."

I have quoted this passage merely as an illustration of the
analogy already alluded to, between the systematical unity of
mathematical science, and that which is eoneeiPoNe in a system
of municipal law. How fiir this unity is exemplified in the
Roman code^ I leave to be determined by more competent
judges.

The evidence of the iemet not appUcciUa in nuOkemaiiee. *•
As something analogous to the hypothetical or conditional con*
elusions of mathematics may thus be fitncied to take place in
speculations concerning moral or political subjects, and actually
does take place in theoretical mechanics ; so, on the other hand,
if a mathematician should affirm, of a general property of the
circle, that it applies to a parUeular Jiffure deecnhed on peq^er,
he would at once degrade a geometrical theorem to the level of
a fact resting ultimately on the evidence of our imperfect
senses. The accuracy of his reasoning could never bestow on
his proposition that peculiar evidence which is properly called
mathematical, as long as the fact remained uncertain, whether
all the straight lines drawn from the centre to the circumfer^ice
of the figure were mathematically equal

Ptediion in the use of worth is not the sole eharacterisHe of
demonstrative reasoning. — These observations lead me to remark
a very common misconception concerning mathematical defini^-
turns; which are of a nature essentially different frxNn the
definitions employed in any of the other sciences. It is usual
for writers on logic, after taking notice of the errors to which
we are liable in consequence of the ambiguity of words, to ap-
peal to the example of mathematicians, as a proof of the infinite
advantage of using, in our reasonings, such expressions only as
have been carefully defined. Various remarks to this purpose
occur in the writings both <^ Mr. Locke and of Dr. Beid. But the
example of mathematicians is by no means appficable to the
science ii which these eminent philosophers propose that it

BBASOHIMO AKD DBDUCTTTE BTIDBKCB. 427

should be followed ; and, indeed, if it were copied as a model
in an J other branch of human knowledge, it would lead to errors
fully as dangerous as anj which resuli from the imperfections
of language. The real fact is, that it has been copied much
mote than it ought to have been, or than would have been
attempted, if the peculiarities of mathematicaL evidence had
been attentively considered.

That in mathematics there is no such thing as an ambiguous
word, and that it is to the proper use of definitions we are in-
debted for this advantage, must unquestionably be granted.
But this is an advantage easily secured, in consequence of the
very limited voeabidcMy of nuUhematicumSy and the distinetneee
of the ideas abaui which their reaeoninge are employed. The
difference, besides, in this respect, between mathematics and the
other sciences, however great, is yet only a difference in degree ;
and is by no means sufficient to account for the essential dis-
tinction, which every person must perceive between the iri-esisti-
ble cogency of a mathematical demonstration and that of any
other process of reasoning.

Proper use of definitions* — From the foregoing considera-
tions it appears, that in mathematics, definitions answer two
purposes ; firsts to prevent ambiguities of language ; and, seo-
^ndfy, to serve as the principles of our reckoning. It appears
further, that it is to the latter of these circumstances, (1 mean
to the employment of hypotheses instead of facts^ as the data on
which we proceed,) that the peculiar force of demonstrative evi-
dence is to be ascribed** It is, however, only in the former

* [Mf. Stewart shows with suffident clearness, that tho definitions a76
the trae premises of mathematical reasoning, and that it is only upon the
■apposition or hypothesis of these definitions being granted, that the
reasoning holds good. But he does not show very clearly why the em-
ployment of definitions and hypotheses should give to a mathematical
demonstration the irresistible cogency which distinguishes it from every
other species of reasoning. In another work, the editor of this volume
has endeavored to supply this dofidct by the following considerations.

Demonstrative reasoning is employed exclusively about (Ae reUuionM vf
•tfsoi. or a&i<nKf idtaoM^ and its oondaaioBS are alws/s abttmct; the indiu*

428 BBASONING AND 0BDUCTITE ETIDENCS.

we of definitions, that anj parallel can be drawn between
mathematics and those branches of knowledge which relate to
facts ; and, therefore, it is not a fair argument in proof of their
general utility, to appeal to the unrivalled certainty of mathe-
matical science, — a preeminence which that science derives
from a source altogether different, though comprehended under
the same name, and which she will forever claim as her own
exclusive prerogative.

tiye sciences relate exclusiyely to mcMers of fact. The relations of ideas, —
that is, of abstractions, or pore ideas, are made known to us by intuition
or reflection. They are pnre creations of the intellect ; in their uncom-
ponnded or abstract character, they are not derived from obserration, and
are therefore not perverted by that great source of error, the iniperfectioii
of the senses, or the limitations of our power of perception. When we
entertain these ideas, or reason about them, the mind is closed to all out-
ward impressions, and freed even from the memory of their former occur-
rence. The ideas that are contemplated then, are contemplated in their
entireness ; for, being nncompounded, if they are apprehended at all, they
must be perfectly apprehended, and, consequently, the relations between
them are discerned at once, or by intuition. The office of the definition
is to shut out the consideration of those qualities which are not included
in the definition, because they are imperfectly known. Our attention
being thus confined to what we know f)erfecdy, the reasoning proceeds
without any possibility of error. All the conclusions of pure mathemat-
ics, pure logic, and pui-e reason, are metaphysical truths, and we can no
more doubt them than we can question the accuracy of the multiplication
table.

When we come to investigate nuUters offcu^, or to reason about them,
we enter upon totally difibrent ground. Instead of abstractions, we have
realities; instead of shutting out sensible evidence altogether, we are
obliged to rely upon it exclusively ; instead of intuitions, we have obser-
vations and experiments ; instead of demonstration, we have induction ;
instead of the 'objects of inquiry being perfectly simple and nncom-
pounded, they are made up of an unknown and unknowable number of
elements and qualities. The impeifections of the senses come in here, to
their full extent, as causes of possible error. The objects of phjrsical sci-
ence must always be imperfectly known; we never can be sure that oar
analysis of them is perfect, or that our observation has taken in all their
outward qualities. The attractive power of the loadstone was known for
centuries before its polarity was discovered. Down to the times of Watt
and Cavendish, watei was supposed to be a simple element, and it figure

RVASOHINQ AKD DSDtJCTlVE EVIDENOB. 42^

Nor ought it to be forgotten, that it is in pure mathematicA
alone, that definitions can be attempted with propriety at the
outset of our investigations. In most other instances, some pre«
Tious discussion is necessary to show, that the definiiwns which
we lay down eorrespond with facU; and, in many cases, the

as sach in some of the ancient theories of cosmogonj; these chemists,
about a century ago, discovered that it was compounded of two gases.
The chemist will tell you that it is not impossible, that it is even probable,
that every one of the sixty substances now counted as elementary, will
ttltimately be decomposed. Of course, the vast number of compounded
objects of which natural history takes cognizance, are still more imper-
fectly known in their qualities and relations, than those substances which as
yet are reckoned elementary. This limited. acquaintance with the subjects
of investigation must lead only to qualified, and, in the logical meaning
of the term, uncertain, conclusions respecting them.

Pure logic and pure mathematics are not so much sciences, as methods
ef scientific inquiry, or ergana of investigation and proof. They are
Biodes of reasoning, irrespective of the subjects or facts about which we
reason, and therefore applicable to all subjects. In the syllogism, for
instance, the conclusion follows with absolute certainty from the premises,
the truth of the premises being presupposed ; whether this truth rests
upon sensible evidence, or intuition, or a previous demonstration, is of no
eoBsequenee. The principles of the syllogism, then, are pure abstract
tkms ; and the letters of the alphabet, or purely arbitrary marks, taken
as signs of any ideas or facts whatsoever, are the most convenient nota-
tion for expressing them. If the premises are matters of fact, or contin-
gent truth, tlie conclusion will also be a matter of fact, or contingent
truth ; only the relation between the premises and conclusion is a meta-
physical truth, and as such is made known by intuition.

The ease is perfectly similar with mathematics, in which we employ a
notation of the same sort In its pure form, this science proceeds from
abstraction to abstraction, the truth developed by it having no foundation
in /act, and never being exemplified in the external world. If an event
in the physical world, or a proposition founded on experience, be taken
as a dattrni, or point of departure for the inquiry, however long the chain
of mathematical reasoning may be which proceeds from it, the result at
which we arrive, is a truth of the same order with the one which formed
the basis of the investigation. It has lost nothing, and it has gained
nothing, in point of logical certainty, through the process to which it has
been subjected.— Zoirctt Lectures en MetetphysicfU and Elkkat Sciettce.
I«eetai« I.|

430 BBASONIVQ AND DBDUCTIYE EVIDBNCB.

formatioa of a just definition is the end to which our inqniriea
are directed. It is very judiciously observed by Mr. Burke, in
his Essay on Taste, that ^ when we define, we are in danger of
circumscribing nature within the bounds of our own notions,
which we often take up by hazard, or embrace on trust, or form
out of a limited and partial consideration of the object before
us, instead of extending our ideas to take in all that nature
comprehends, according to .her manner of combining. We are
limited in our inquiry by the strict laws to which we have sub-
mitted at our setting out."

The same author adds, that ^ a definition may be very exact,
and yet go but a very little way towards informing us of the
nature of the thing defined ; " and that, '^ in the order of things,
a definition, let its virtue be what it will, ought rather to foUow
than to precede our inquiries, of which it ought to be considered
as the result."

From a want of attention to these circumstances, and from a
blind imitation of the mathematical arrangement in specula-
tions where facts are involved among the principles of our
reasonings, numberless errors in the writings of philosophers
might be easily traced. The subject is of too great extent to
be pursued any further here; but it is well entitled to the
examination of all who may turn their thoughts to the reforma-
tion of logic. That the ideas of Aristotle himself, with respect
to it, were not very precise, must, I think, be granted, if the
following statement of his ingenious commentator be admitted
as correct.

Definitions in geometry are not founded on observation, —
" Every general term," says Dr. Gillies, " is considered by Aris-
totle, as the abridgment of a definition ; and every definition
is denominated by him a collection, because it is the result
always of observation and comparison, and oflen of inanj
observations and of many comparisons."

These two propositions will be found, upon examination, not
very consistent with each other. The first, " That every general
term is the abridgmen* jf a definition," applies, indeed, adniirabl j
to mathematics ; and 'x)uches with singular precision on the

BEASOKINO AND DEDtJCTlTE STIBENCB. 451

Terj circumstance which constitutes, in mj opinion, the peculiar
cogencj of mathematical reasoning. But it is to mathematics
that it applies exclusivelj. If adopted as a logical maxim in
other branches of knowledge, it would prove an endless source
of sophistry and error. — The second proposition, on the other
hand, " That every definition is the result of observation and
comparison, and often of many observations and many compari-
sons," however applicable to the definitions of natural history,
and of other sciences which relate to fiu^ts, cannot, in one single
instance, apply to the definitions of geometry; inasmuch as
these definitions are. the result neither of observations nor of
comparisons, but'are the hypotheses, or first principles, on which
the whole science rests..

If the foregoing account of demonstrative evidence be just,
it follows, that no chain of reasoning whatever can deserve the
name of a demonstration, (at least in the mathematical sense of
that word) which is not uUimaiely resolvable into hypoOieses or
definitions.* It has been already shown, that this is the case
with geometry. And it is also manifestly the case with arith-
metic, another science to which, in common with geometry, we
apply the word mathematical. The simple arithmetical equa-
tions 2 add 2 = 4; 2, add 3 = 5, and other elementary proposi-
tions of the same sort, are, as was formerly observed, mere
definitions, perfectly analogous, in this respect, to those at the
beginning of Euclid ; and it is from a few fundamental princt-

* Although the account given by Locke of what constitutes a demon-
stration, be difierent from that which I have here proposed, ho admits the
converse of this doctrine as manifest ; viz. That if we reason accurately
from our own definitions, our conclusions will possess demonstrative evi-
dence; and "hence" he observes with great truth, "it comes to pass,
that one maj often meet with very clear and coherent discourses, that
amount yet to nothing." He afterwards remarks, that, " one may make
demonstrations and undoubted propositions in words, and yet thereby
advance not one jot in the knowledge of the truth of things." " Of this
sort," he adds, " a man may find an infinite number of propositions, rea-
sonings, and conclusions, in books of metaphysics, school-divinity and
some sort of natural philosophy ; and, after all, know as little of GiKl.
spirits or bodies, as he did before he set out."

482 BBAaoamro mmd msDvonn xmincm.

pies wkidi are esieiitiallj of the same deseriptiQii, tbat aD the
more oomi^catod resuits in the science are dmved.

7%eprMem$ of ^tombbnf are as hfpathatieal a$ tig theonm.
•— To this general condosioiiy with respect to the natare of
mathematieal demonstration, an exception maj perhaps be, at
Qrst sight, apprehended to oocor, in onr reasonings concerning
geometrical proUetMs; all of these reasonings, as is wdl known,
resting nltimatelj upon a particalar class of prinmi^es called
pa$iulaig$j which are commonlj onderstood to be so very nearly
akin to oxi&mMj that both might, without impropri^, be com-
prehended under the same name. ^The definition of a/Kxsfw-
tee," says the learned and ingenious Dr. Hutton, ^ will nearly
agree also to an axiom, which is a sel^videat theorem, as a
postulate is a self^vident proUem.^ The same author, in
another part of his work, quotes a remark firom Dr. Banow,
that ^ there is the same affinity between postulates and problems,
as between axioms and theorems.'*

In opposition to these Tery high authorides, I hare no hes»-
tation to assert, thatit is wiik ike definittam of Euclid, and nM
with the oxiamMy that the p9itJidaU$ omght to he camparwd, in
respect of their logical duuueter and importance ; <•— ina^nuoh
as all the demonstrations in plane gei^metry are uhimatelj
finrnded on the former, and all the constructions which it reoog^
nices as legitimate, may be resolred ultimately into the latter.
To this remark it may be added, that, according to £iielid*8
▼iew of the subject, the problems of geometry are not lees kypo^
ihetical and ^j^eeulaiivey (or, to adopt the phraseology <^ some
late writers, not less objects of pure reason,) than ^ thearenw ;
the possibility of drawing a mathematical straight line, and of
describing a mathematical circle, being assumed in the construc-
tion of every problem, in a way quite analogous to that in
which the enunciation <tf a theorem assumes the existenee ef
straight lines, and of drdes corresponding to their mathematics^
definitions. The reasoning, therefore, on which the solution of a
problem rests, is not less demonstrative than that which is ein-
ployed in proof of a theorem. Grant the possibility of the three
operations described in the postulates^ and the oorr^cUiQei^ of

RBAfOlimO AKD DEDUCTIVE BVlDEXCie. 438

tiie solution k « ma^maticallj certain, as th« truth of any
prc^rt J of the triangle or of the circle. The three postulates
of Euclid are, indeed, nothing more than the definition of a
circle and a straight line thrown into a form somewhat different ;
and a similar remark maj be extended to the correspcMiding
distribntioii of propositions into theorems and problems. Not-
withstanding the many conyeniences with which this distribution
is attended, it was evidently a matter of choice rather than
of necessity; all the truths of geome^ easily admitting oi
being moulded into either shape, according to the fancy of the
mathematician. As to the axioms, there cannot be a doubt,
whatever opinion may be entertained of their utility or of their
insignificance, that they stand precisely in the same relation to
both classes of propositioBS.

Ifitwfar it %s true thai all nuxikemaHcal tmdenee is resehM^
^Uo idmUical proposiiiatii. -^ I had occasion to take notice, in
the first seetioB of the preceding chapter, of a theory with re*
speet to the nature of mathematical evidence, very difiereni
frmn that which I have been now attempting to explain. Ac-
cording to this theory (originally, I believe, proposed by Leib-
mtz) we are taught, that all mathematical evidence ultimately
resolyea into the perc^tion of identity ; the innumerable variety
of propositions wluch have been discovered, or which remain
to be discovered in the science, being only diversified expres-
aioBs of the simple formula, a=:a.

As this account of mathematical evidence is quite irreconcil-
able with the scope of the foregoing observations, it is necessary,
bef<»re proceeding further, to examine its real import and
amount ; and what the circumstances are from which it derives
that plausibility which it 'has been so generally supposed to

Heal euperpoeitian ie tie 0nfy vcy ef fvimn^ thai mu space
ie eqmd ta amiher,~^T\^i all mathematical evidence resolves
ultimately into the perception of identity, has been considered
by some as a consequence of the commonly received doctrine^
which represents the axioms of Euclid 9» the first princii^es of
all our subsequent reasonings in geometry. Upon this view of

87

434 BSAsoNmo and deuuctiye eyidehgs.

the subject, I have nothing to offer in addition to what I have
already stated. The argument which I mean to ocwibat at
present, is of a more subtile and refined nature ; and, at the
same time, involves an admixture of important truth, which
contributes not a little to the specious verisimilitude of the con-
clusion. It is founded on this simple consideration, that the
geometrical nations of eqwdity cmd of coincidence are the same ;
and that, even in comparing together spaces of different figures,
all our conclusions ultimately lean with their whole weight on
the imaginary application of one triangle to another; — the
object of which imaginary application is merely to identify the
two triangles together in every circumstance connected both
with magnitude and figure.*

Of the justness of the assumption on which this argument
proceeds, I do not entertain the slightest doubt. Whoever has
the curiosity to examine any one theorem in the elements of
plane geometry, in which different spaces are compared to-
gether, will easily perceive, that the demonstration, when traced
back to its first principles, terminates in the fourth proposition
of Euclid's first book ; a proposition of which the proof rests
entirely on a supposed application of the one triangle to the
other. In the case of equal triangles which differ in figure,
this expedient of ideal superposition cannot be directly and im-
mediately employed to evince their equality ; but the demon-
stration will nevertheless be found to rest at bottom on the same
species of evidence. In illustsation of this doctrine, I shall
only appeal to the thirty-seventh proposition of the first book,
in which it is proved that triangles on the same hase^ and between

* It was probably with a view to the establishment' of this doctrine, that
some foreign elementary writers have lately given th^ name of ukntiocd
triangles to such as agree with each other both in sides, in angles, and in
area. The differences which may exbt.between them in respect of plaoCy
and of relative position (differences which do ipt at all enter into tlie rea>
sonings of the geometer) seem to have been considered as of so little
account in discriminating them as separate objects of thought, that it has
been concluded they only form one and the same triangle, in the cc^ntem-
plation of the logician.

REASOKINO AND DBDUOTIYB ETIDEKCE« 435

the sameparaUebj are equal; a theorem which appears, fiom a
very simple constracdoiiy to be only a few steps removed from
the fourth of the same book, in which the supposed application
of the one triangle to the other, is the only medium of com-
parison from which their quality is inferred.

In general, it seems to be almost self-evident, that the equality
of two spaces can be demonstrated only by showing, either that
the one might be applied to the other, so that their boundai*ies
should exactly coincide ; or that it is possible, by a geometrical
construction, to divide them into compartments^ in such a manner,
that the sum of parts in the one may he proved to he equal to
the sum of parts in the others upon the principle of superposition.
To devise the easiest and simplest constructions for attaining
this end, is the object to which the skill and invention of the
geometer is chiefly directed.

Nor is it the geometer alone who reasons upon this principle.
If you wish to convince a person of plain understanding, who
is quite unacquainted with mathematics, of the truth of one of
Euclid's theorems, it can only be done by exhibiting to his eye
operations exactly analogous to those which the geometer pre-
sents to the understanding. A good example of this occurs in
the sensible or experimental illustration which is sometimes
given of the forty-seventh proposition of Euclid's first book.
For this purpose, a card is cut into the form of a right angled
triangle^ and square pieces of card are adapted to the different
sides ; after which, by a simple and ingenious contrivance, the
different squares are so dissected, that those of the two sides
are made to cover the same space with the square of the
hypothenuse. In truth, this mode of comparison hy a super-
positimi^ actual or idealj is the only test of equality which it is
possible to appeal to ; and it is from this, as seems from a pas-
sage in Proclus to have been the opinion of Apollonius, that, in
point of logical rigor, the. definition of geometrical equality
should have been taken.* The subject is discussed at great

* I do not think, however, that it would be fair, on this account, to cen-
fore Euclid for the arrangement which he has adopted, as he has thereby

486 wtAnowmo ahd DEi>vctrvs rriDKNCE.

length and witk iiiaob agutenesB, at weD as learning, in one of
tbe mathematical leetores of Dr. Barrow; to which I mast
refer those readers who may wish to see it more fullj illus-
trated.

Identity and equaUiy am not amvertxUe terms. — I am stronglj
Inclined to sospeet, that most of the writers who have main-
tmned that all mathematical evidence resolves ultimately into
the perception of identity have had a secret reference in their
own minds to the doctrine just stated ; and that they have im-
posed on themselves, by using the words identity and equaKty
as literally synonymous and convertible terms. This does not
seem to be at all consistent, either in point of expression or of
fact, with sound logic. When it is affirmed, for instance, that
^ if two straight lines in a circle intersect each other, the rec-
tangle contained by the segments of the one is equal to the
rectangle contained by the segments of the other ; " can it with
any propriety be said, that the relation between these rectangles
may be expressed by the formula a=^a? Or, to take a case yet

most ingeniously and dexterously tried to keep out of the view of the
student some very puzzUng questions, to which it is not possible to give a
satisfactory answer till a considerable progress has been made in the ele-
ments. Whenjt is stated in the form of a self-evident truth, that magni-
tudes which coincide, or which exactly fill the same space, are equal to one
another, the beginner readily yields his assent to the prupoeition ; aad
this assent, without going any further, is all that is required in any of die
demonstrations of the first six books ; whereas, if the proposition were
converted into a definition, by saying, " Equal magnitudes are those which
coincide, or which exactly fill the same space ; ** the question would imme-
diately occur, Are no magnitudet equal but those to which this test of
equality can be applied ? Can the relation of equally not aubaist between
magnitudes which differ from each other in figure ? In reply to this ques-
tion, it would be necessary to explain the definition, by adding, That those
magnitudes likewise are said to be equal, which are capable of being
divided or dissected in such a manner, that the parts of the one may sever-
ally eoincide with die parts of the other ; a eoncoption much too refiaed
and complicated for the generality of students at their first outset ; and
which, if it were fully and clearly apprehended, would plunge them at once
Into the profound speculation concerning the comparison of rectilineal
with curvilinear figures.

REASONHTO AND DBDUCTXTE EYIDKBrCK 437

Stronger, when it is affirmed, that ^ the area of a circle is equal
to that of a triangle having the circumference for its base, and
the radius for its altitude ; " would it not be an obvious paralo-
gism to infer from this proposition, that the triangle and the circle
are one and the same thing ? In this last instance, Dr. Barrow
himself has thought it necessary, in order to reconcile the lan-
guage of Archimedes with that of Eudid, to have recourse to
a scholastic distinction between ctctuai Bnd potential isoinadenee i
and, therefore, if we are to avail ourselves of the principle of
superposition, in defence of the fashionable theory concemhig
mathematical evidence, we must, I apprehend, introduce a cor* .
respondent distinction between achial and potential identity.

That I may not be accused, however, of misrepresenting the
opinion which I am anxious to refute, I shall state it in the
words of an author, who has made it the subject of a particular
dissertation ; and who appears to me to have done as much jus-
tice to his argument as any of its other defenders.

[^^All mathematical propositions are identical, and may be
represented by this formula, a = a. They are identical truths,
expressed in various forms, or rather they are what is called
the principle of contradiction itself,* variously enunciated and
involved ; as, indeed, all propositions of this sort are really in-
volved in this principle. According to our way of understand-
ing, such propositions differ from each other only in this, that
some of them are reduced to the principle of contradiction, and
resolved into it, by a long train of reasoning, others by a shorter
one. Thus, for example, the proposition 2 -|- 2 = 4 is resolved
immediately into this, l-|-l-f-l-f-l = l + l + l + l; ^^^ >8>
the same is the same ; and, properly speaking, it ought to be
thus enunciated, — if four things exist, then four things* exist
For geometricians do not treat of existence directly, but it is
introduced only by way of hypothesis. Hence the highest
degree of certainty results to one who examines such reasoning ;
for he observes the identity of two ideas ; and this is the evi-

* [ The principle of contradiction is the axiom, that " it is impossible for
^e same thino^ to be and not to be at the same moment."]

87*

488 HUfomiro Am wa>vcTm bvi]>biio&

denee oompelling our immediate assent, which we eaU matbe*
matical or geometrical evideiioe. Tet such evidMice is not
pecoliar to mathematical science alone, for it arises from the
perception of identity, and the identity of two ideas maj be
recognized, though thej do not represent extension."]

Ihtths muH b$ dMnguiMhed from the evidence hy wkich ike^
are wijpiported, — With respect to this passage I have onlj to
remark, (and the same thing is observable of every oth^ at-
tempt which has been made to support the opinion m question,)
that the author confounds two things essentially different; — the
nature of the truths which are the objects of a science, and the
nature of the evidence by which these truths are established.
Granting, for the sake of argument, that all mathematical prop-
ositions may be represented by the fcurmula a = a, it would not,
therefore, follow, thai every $tep of the reaeoning leading to theee
eonchtiionsj was a propoeition of the same nature ; and that, to
feel the full force of a mathematical demonstration, it is sufficient
to be convinced of this maxim, that every thing may be truly
predicated of itself; or, in plain English, that the same is the
scone. A paper written in cipher, and the interpretation of Ihat
paper by a skilful decipherer, may, in like manner, be considered
as, to all intents and purposes, one and the same thing. They
are so, in fact, just as much as one side of an algebraical equa-
tion i^ the same thing with the other. But does it therefore
follow, that the whole evidence upon which the art of decnpher-
ing proceeds, resolves into the perception of identity ?

It may be fairly questioned, too, whether it can, with strict
correctness, be said even of the simple arithmetical equation
2 -{-^==^9 ^^^ ^^ ™<^7 ^ represented by the formula a^=.a.
The ohe is a proposition asserting the equivalence of two dif-
ferent expressions; — to ascertain which equivalence nmy, in
numberless cases, be an object of the highest importance. The
other is altogether unmeaning and nugatory, and cannot, by any
possible supposition, admit of the slightest application of a prac-
tical nature. What opinion, then, shall we form of the propoesi-
tion a = a, when considered as the representative of sueh a
formula as the binomial theor^n of Sir Isaac Newton ? Whesi

mtABOVTKQ Aim DSDVCirrB BTZDSirOB. 439

applied to the equation 2 <^ 2 = 4, (which, from its extreme
simplicity and familiarity, is apt to be regarded in the light of
an axiom,) the paradox does not appear to be so manifestly
extravagant ; but, in the other ease, it seems quite impossible to
'annex to it any meaning whatever.

77t0 doctrine of OondiUae retpedinff aU sorts of evidence
ecniroverted. — I should scarcely have been induced to dwell so
long on this theory of Leibnitz concerning mathematical evi^
denoe, if I had not observed among some late logicians, (partie-
xdarly among the followers of CondiUac), a growing disposition
to extend it to all the difierent sorts of evid^ice resulting from
the various employments oi our reasoning powers. Condillac
himself states his own opinion on this point with the most per-
fect coDfidence. [<' The evidence of reason consists altogether
in identity, as we have demonstrated. This truth must be very
•imple to have escaped the notice of all the philosophers, who
are so much interested in establishing the grounds of the evi-
dence which they are incessantly talking about"]

The demonstration here alluded to, is extremely ccmdse ; and
if we grant the two data on which it proceeds, must be univer*
aaily acknowledged to be irresistible. The first is, ^ That the
evidence of every mathematical equation is that of identity:**
the second, ^ That what are called, in the other sciences, propo*
oitions or judgments, are, at bottom, predsely of the same
nature with equations." — * But it is proper, on this occasion, to
let our author speak for himself.

[^ But it will be said, that we reason in this way in mathe-
matics, where the reascming is expvessed m equations ; but will
it be so in the other sciences, where the reasoning is stated in
propositions ? I answer, that equations, propositions, and judg-
ments are at bottom the same thing, and consequentiy, that we
xeason in the same manner in all the sciences."]

Upon this demonstration I have no comment to offer. The
truth of the first assumption has been already examined at suf-
ficient length ; and the seecmd (which is only Locke's very erro*
neons account of judgment, stated in t^rms incomparably mora
exceptionable,) is too puerile to admit of refutation. It is mei

440 SBASOMIXO AlTD OEDVOTITS STIDKIfCB.

ancholy to reflect, that a vrritery who, in his earlier jears, had
so admirably unfolded the mightj influence of language upon
our speculative conclusions, should have left behind him, in one
of his latest pubUcations, so memorable an illustratsoa of his
own favorite doctrine.

It was manifestly with a view to the more complete establish-
ment of the same theory, that GondiUac undertook a work,
which has appeared since his death, under the title of La Iaxri-
^riM du Calculi ; and which, we are told by the editors, was
only meant as a prelude to other labors, more interesting and
more difficult From the circumstances which they have stated,
it would seem that the intention of the author was to extend to
all the other branches of knowledge, inferences similar to those
which he has here endeavored to establish with respect to math-
ematical calculations; and much regret is expressed by his
friends, that he had not lived to accomplish a design of such
incalculable importance to human happiness* I believe I may
safely venture to assert^ that it was fortunate for his reputatioB
be proceeded no further; as the sequel must, from the nature
of the subject, have afibrded, to every competent judge, an ex-
perimental and palpable proof of the vagueness and &llacioas-
ness of those views by which the undertaking was suggested.
In his posthumous volume, the mathematical precision and
perspicuity of his details appear to a superficial reader to reflect
some part of their own light on the general reasonings with
which they are blended ; while to better judges, these reasoi^
ings come recommended with many advantages and with much
additional authority, &om their coincidence with the doctrines
of the Leibnitzian schooL

CondiUac's doctrine anticipated hy Hohbes, — It would proba-
bly have been not a little mortifying to this most ingenious and
respectable philosopher, to have discovered, that, in attempting
to generalize a very celebrated theory of Leibnitz, he had
stumbled upon an obsolete conceit, started in this island up*
wards of a century before. ^ When a man reasoneth," says
Hobbes, ^ he does nothing else but conceive a sum total, from
%ddition of parcels ; or conceive a remainder fix>m subtractHM

HEAfiONING AKD DEDUGTITE KTIDEKOE. 441

uf one sum from another ; which, if it be done bj words, is con-
ceiving of the consequence of the names of all the parts to the
name of the whole ; or from the name of the whole and one
part, to the name of the other part. These operations are not
incident to number only, but to all manner of things that can
be added together, and taken one out of another. In sum, in
what matter soever there is place for addition and substraction,
there also is place for reason ; and where these have no place,
there reason has nothing at all to do.

^ Out of all which we may define what that is which is meant
by the word reason, when we reckon it amongst the faculties of
the mind. For reason, in this sense, is nothing but reckoning
(that is, adding and substracting), of the consequences of gen-
eral names agreed upon for the marking and signifying of our
thoughts ; — I say marking them, when we reckon by ourselves ;
and signifying, when we demonstrate or approve our reckonings
to other men." {Leviathan, chap. 5.)

Agreeably to this definition, Hobbes has given to the first
part of his elements of philosophy, the title of OomptUatio, sive
Logica; evidently employing these two words as precisely
synonymous.

How wonderfully does this jargon agtee with the assertion
of Condillac, that all equations are propositions, and all proposi-
tions equations !

These speculations, however, of Condillac and of Hobbes,
relate to reasoning in general ; and it is with mathematical rea-
soning alone that we are immediately concerned at present.
That the peculiar evidence with which this is accompanied, is.
not resolvable into the perception of identity, has, I flatter my-
self, been sufiiciently proved in the beginning of this article :
and the plausible extension by Ck)ndillac of the very same the-
ory to our reasonings in all the different branches of moral sci-
ence, affords a strong additional presumption in favor of our
conclusion.

Evidence of the mechanical philosophy not to he confounded
with that which is properly called demonstrative or mathemati'
cr'i, — Next to geometry and arithmetic, in point ci evidence

i42 BBiLsoarmo ▲«!> beditotitb stzdevci.

and oertainty, it tkflA bfaneb of general ph j«c9 which is now
ealled mechanical pkiloeepk^ [or meehamicSf omplj] ; a science
in which the progress of disoovery has been astonishinglj
rapid, during the course of the Uist century ; and which, in the
B/Atematical concateoadoa and filiation of its elementary prin-
ciples^ exhibits eyery day more and more of that logical aim*
plictty and elegance whidi we admire in the wiH-ks oi the Greek
mathematicians. It may, I think, be fiurly questioaed, whether,
in this department of knowledge, the affectation of matheraati-*
cal method has not been already carried to an excess; the
essential distinction between mechanical and mathematical
truths being, in many of the physical systems which have lately
appeared on the Continent, studiously kept out of the reader's
Tiew, by exhibiting both, as nearly as possible, in the same
form. A yariety of drcumstances, indeed, conspire to identify
in the imagination, and, of consequence, to assimilate in the
mode of their statement, these two very different classes of
propositions ; bttt as this assimilation, besides its obvious ten-
dency to involve experimental facts in metaphysical mystery, is
apt occasionally to lead to very erroneous logical conclusions, it
becomes the more necessary, in proportion as it arises from a
natural bias, to point out the causes in which it has originated,
and the limitations with which it ought to be understood.

The following slight remarks will sufficiently explain my
general ideas on this important artide of log^

!• As the study of the mechanical philosophy is, in a great
measure, inaecessible to those who have not received a regular
mathematical educaticm, it conmionly happens, that a taste for
it is, in the first instance, grailed on a previous attachment to
the researches of pure or abstract mathematics. Hence a nat-
ural and insensible transference to physical pursuits, of mathe-
matical habits of thinking; and hence an almost unavoidable
propensity to give to the former science that systematical con-
nection in all its various conclusions which, from the nature of
its first principles, is essential to the latter, but which can never
belong to any science which has its foundations laid in fiicts, col-
lected from experience and observation.

RSASONma AKD DBDUCTITE SYIDBNOB* 448

2. Another cireumstance whidi has co5perated poweifull;
witii the former in producing th« Mune effect^ is that proneness
to simplification which has misled the mind, more or less, in all
its researches, and vhich, in natttral philosophy, if pecnlmrljr
eneonraged hj those beautiful analogies which are observable
among different physical phenomena, — analogies, at the same
time, which, however plea»ng to the fancy, cannot always be
resolved by our reason into one general law* In a remaricable
analogy, for example, which presents itself between the equality
of action and reacti<m in the collisi<m of bodies^ and what ob-
tains in their mutual attractions, the coincidence is so perfect,
as to enable us to comprehend all the varioos facts in the same
tiieorem; and it is difficult to resist the temptation which it
seems iq offer to our ingenuity, of attempting to trace it, in both
cases, to some common principle^ Such trials of theoretical
skill, I would not be understood to censure indiscriminately ;
but in the present instance, I am fully persuaded, that it is at
once more unexceptionable in point of sound logic, and more
saitisfaclory to the learner, to establish the fact, in particular
cases, by an appeal to experiment ; and to state the law of
action and reaction in the collision of bodies, as wdl as that
which regulates the mutual tendencies of bodies towards each
other, merely as general rules which have been obtained by
iiiduction, and which are foand to hold invariably as &r as our
knowledge of nature extends.

3. To these remarks it may be added, that even when (me
proposition in natural philosophy is logically deducible firom
another, it may frequently be expedient, in communicating the
elements of the science, to illustrate and confirm the consequence,
as well as the principle, by experiment This I should appre-*
Lend to be proper wherever a consequence is inferred from a
principle less familiar and intelligible than itsdf ; a thing which
must occasionally happen in physics, from the complete incor-
poration, if I may use the expression, which, in modem times,
has taken place between physical truths, and the discoveries of
mathematicians. The necessary effect of this incorporation was,
to give to natural philosophy a mathematical i<»rmy and to sys*

\

444 RBASONIHG AND DBDUCTITS EYIDENOS.

tematize its conclusions, ha fat bs possible, i^reeably to rules
suggested bj mathematical method.

ArhUrary selection of the premises in tncUhematiccU reasoning.
— In pure mathematics, where the truths which we investigate
are all coexistent in point of time, it is universallj allowed,
that one proposition is said to be a consequence of another, only
with a reference to our established arrangements. Thus, all the
properties of the circle might be as rigorously deduced from any
one general property of the curve, as from the equality of the
radlL But it does not therefore follow, that all these arrange-
ments would be equally convenient ; on the contrary, it is evi-
dently useful, and indeed necessary, to lead the mind, as far as
the thing is practicable, from what is simple to what is more
complex. The misfortune is, that it seems impossible to carry
this rule universally into execution; and accordingly, in the
*mo3t elegant geometrical oreatiaes which have yet appeared,
instances occur, in which consequences are deduced from prin-
ciples more complicated than themselves.

Such inversions, however, of what may justly be regarded as
the jiatural order, must always be felt by the author as a subject
of regret ; and, in proportion to their frequency, they detract
both from the beauty and from the didactic simplicity of his
general design.

Abstract conclusions in mechanics should he verified by est-
perimenL — The same thing oflen happens in the elementary
doctrines of natural philosophy. A very obvious example
occurs, in the different demonstrations given by writers on
mechanics, from the resolution of forces, of the fundamental
proposition concerning the lever ; demonstrations in which the
proposition, even in the simple case when the directions of the
forces are supposed to be parallel, is inferred from a process of
reasoning involving one of the most refined principles employed
in the mechanical philosophy. I do not object to this arrange-
ment as illogical ; nor do I presume to say that it is injudicious.
1 would only suggest the propriety, in such instances, o^ con-
firming and illustrating the conclusion by an appeal to experi-
ment; an appeal which, in natural philosophy, possesses an

BlSAaONINO AND DSDVCTIYE ^YIDENGS* 44$

KUthority equal to that which is generally, bat very improperly,
considered as a mathematical demonstration of physical truths.
In pure geometry, no reference to the senses can be admitted,
but in the way of illustration ; and any such reference, in the
most trifling step of a demonstration, vitiates the whole. But
in natural philosophy, all our reasonings must be grounded on
principles for which no evidence but that of sense can be ob«
taineds and the propositions which we establish, differ from
eaoh other only as they are deduced from such principles im-
mediately, or by the intervention of a mathematical demonstra-
tion. An experimental proof, therefore, of any particular
physical truth, when it can be conveniently obtained, although it
may not always be the most elegant or the most expedient way
ot* introducing it to the knowledge of the student, is as rigorous
and as satisfactory as any other; for the intervention of ,^ pro*
oess of mathematical reasoning can never bestow on our conclu- «
aions a greater degree of certainty than our principles possessed.
Jix!ce$$ive use of mathematical reasoning in physics, — I have
been led to enUirge on these topics by that unqualified applica-
tion of mathematical method to physics, which has been fashion-
able for many years past among foreign writers, and which
seems to have originated chiefly in the commanding influence
which the genius and learning of Leibnitz has so long main-
tained over the scientific taste of most European nations. In
an account, lately published, of the Life and Writings of Dr.
Beid, I have taken notice of some other inconveniences result-
ing from it, still more important than the introduction of an
unsound logic into the elements of natural philosophy ; in par-
ticular, of the obvious tendency which it has to withdraw the
{Attention from that unity of des^ which is the noblest employ-
ment of philosophy to illustrate, by disguising it under the
aemblance of an eternal and necessary order, similar to what
the mathematician delights to trace •among the mutual relations
of quantities and figures. The consequence has been, (in too
many physical systems,) to level the study of nature, in point
of moral interest, with the investigations of the algebraist ; — an
effect, too, which has taken place most remarkably., where, from

38

446 BSASOHINO AKD DEDUCTITE ETIDEKCB.

the sublimity of the Bnbject, it was least to be expected, — in
the application of the mechanical philosophy to the phenomena
of the heavens. But on this very extensive and important
topic I must not enter at present.

ITie opposite error y of ranking tnathemcOics among the sciencet
of experiment and observation^ confuted. — In the opposite ex-
treme to the error which I have now been endeavoring to cor-
rect, is a paradox, which was broached about twenty years ago
by the late ingenious Dr. Beddoes ; and which has since been
adopted by some writers whose names are better' entitled, on a
question of this sort, to give weight to their opinions. By the
partizans of this new doctrine, it seems to be imagined that, so
far from physics being a branch of mathematics, mathematics, and
more particularly geometry, is, in reality, only a branch of physics.
*^ The mathematical sciences,'' says Dr. Beddoes, "• are sciences
of experiment and observation, founded solely on the induction
of particular facts ; as much so as mechanics, astronomy, optics,
or chemistry. In the kind of evidence, there is no di£ference ;
for it originates from perception in all these cases alike ; but
mathematical experiments are more simple, and more perfectly
within the grasp of our senses, and our perceptions of mathe-
matical objects are clearer."

A doctrine essentially the same, though expressed in terms
iiot quite so revolting, has been lately sanctioned by Mr. Leslie ;
and it is to his view of the argument that I mean to confine my
attention at present. ^ The whole structure of geometry,'* he
remarks, ^ is grounded on the simple comparison of triangles ;
and all the fundamental theorems which relate to this compari*
son, derive their evidence from the mere superpositi<ni of the
triangles themselves ; a mode of proof which, in reality, is noth-
ing but an ultimate appeal, though of the easiest and most
familiar kind, to external observation."* And, in another pas-

* Elements of Geometry and of Geometrical Analysis, etc. Bj Mr.
Leslie. Edinburgh, 1809. The assertion that the whole stracture of
geometry is founded on the comparison of triangles, is expressed in tenns
tno unqualified. D'Alembert has mentioned another principle as not les<

BBASOKIKO AND DEDUOTITE ETIDEKCB. 447

jage : ** Greometry, like the other sciences which are not con-
cerned ahoat the operations of mind, rests ultimately on ex-
ternal observations. But those ultimate facts are so few, so
distinct and obvious, that the subsequent train of reasoning is
safely pursued to an unlimited extent, without ever appealing
again to the evidence of the senses.^

1^ two arffumenU adduced to support this doctrine, — Before
proceeding to make any remarks on this theory, it is proper to
premise, that it involves two separate considerations, which it is
of material consequence to distinguish from each other. The
first is, that eoetension and figure^ the subjects of geometry, are
qitalities of body which are made known to us hy our external
Menses aHone^ and which actually fall under the consideration of
the natural philosopher, as well as of the mathematician. The
second, that the whole fabric of geometrical science rests on the
yomparison of triangles^ in forming which comparisony we are
tdtimately obliged to appeal (in the same manner as in establish-
. ing the first principles of physics) to a sensible and experimeMal
proof

1. The mathematical affections of matter are necessary and
eternal^ and therefore not dependent on the evidence of the senses*
— In answer to the first of these allegations, it might perhaps
be sufficient to observe, that in order to identify two sciences, it
is not enough to state, that they are both conversant about the
same objects ; it is necessary further to show, that in both cases,
these objects are considered in the same point of view, and give

fundamental, tiie measaroment of angles by drcnlar arches. " Thefitnda-
ital proposUwM of ^eometnf mojf be reduced totux>; the meantre of angles by
eircuhr arcs, and the principle of superposition." The same writer, however,
justly observes, in another part of his works, that the measure of angles
by circular arches, is itself dependent on the principle of superposition:
and that, consequently, however extensive and important in its applica-
tion, it is entitled only to rank with what he calls principles of a second
order.

Instead, therefore, of saying that the whole structure of geometry is
grounded on the comparison of triangles, it would be more correct to say,
that it is gn-!inded on the principle of superposition.

4M B1US0HUIO AN]> DXPVGTIYS 9TIPWQ1.

employment to the swoe &caltaea of the mind. The poet, tb
painter, the gardener, and the hotanUt, are all occupied, in vari-
0U8 degreet and modes, with the studj of the vegetahle king-
dom I jet who baa oyer thought of eonfoonding their fieyenJ
pursuits under one eommon name? The natural historian, the
civil historian, the moralist, the logician* the dramatist, and ths
•talesman, are all engaged in the stu4j oS man, Mid oS the prin-
ciplea of human nature i yet bow widely discriminated ai« these
various departments of science and of art I how different are
the kinds of cTidenee on which they respectiYely rest! how
different the intellectual habits which ibey have a tendency to
form I Indeed, if this mode of generalisation were to be ad-
mitted as legitimate, it would lead us to blend all the olijeots of
•dence into one and the same mass ; inasmuch a3 it ia by the
same impressions on our external senses, that our intellectual
{acuities are, in the first instance, roused to acticoi, and all the
first elements of our knowledge unfolded.

In the instance, however, before us, there is a very remarkable
specialty, or rather singularity, which renders the attempt to iden-
tify the ol^ects of geometrical and i^ysical science inccmipara-
bly more illogical than it would be to classify poetry with botany,
or the natural history of man with the political history of nations.
This specialty arises from certain peculiarities in the metaphys-
eal nature of those sensible qualities which fall under the consid-
eration of the geometer; and which ledme, in a different work, to
distinguish them from other sensible qualities (both primai^ and
secondary,) by bestowing on them the title of mathematical affee^
Hans of matter. Of these mathematical affections (ma^tttide
9XiA figure) our first notions are, no doubt, derived (as well as ef
hardness, softness^ roufhness, and smoothness) f)rom the exercise
of our external senses ; but it is equally certain, that when the
notions of magnitude and figure have once been acquired, the
mind is immediately led to consider them as attributes of apace
no less than of body : and (abstractittg them entirely from the
other sensible qualities perceived in conjunction with them,)
becomes impressed witV an irresistible conviction, that their
existence is necessQgjf md eimi^ and that it would remsun ua*

mttAiMivro 4)m DiiiGctiVB ttvn>nroi» 44ft

Attiftd if all tho bocSteA fh the uiiit«Toe werft nnttiUlfteed. It
k ttot our bUBifidn here to ifiquire into the <^gi& atid groatidd
of this oonyiction* It Is with the ftct alone that we are eott-
oemed at preeent; and this I oobceive to be one of the tnofit
obviouilj incontrovertible which the circle of oar knowledge
embraces. Let those explain it as they best oan^ who are of
opinion, that all the judgments of the human understanding
rest ultimately on observation and experience*

N<H- is this the only case in which the mind forms conclusions
oonceming space^ to which those of the natural philosopher do
not bear the remotest analogy, is it from experience we ham
tkai 9pa8$ ii infinim f or, to express myself in more unexcep^
tionable terms, thai no limiU can he assigned to its immensity^
Here is a &ct, extending not only beyond the reach of our per-
sonal observation, but beyond the observation of all created
beings \ and a fact on which we pronounce with no less confi«
dence, when in imagination we transport ourselves to the utmost
verge of the material universe, than when we confine our
thoughts to those regions of the globe which have been explored
by travellers. How unlike those general laws which we inves-
tigate m physics^ and which, how far soever we may find them
to reach, may still, for any thing we are able to discover to the
contrary, be only contingent^ local, and temporary.*

* [Mr. J. S. Mill is th« Ist^st writer of anthoHt^r who hss msintained
Hm doctrine of Beddoes and Leslie, that eren purs mathematics is an
IndttctiTe science, and depends nltimately on external observation. The
ibllowing is a summary of his argument upon this point, though it deserres
notice only as the attempt of a very acnte reasoner to support a thesis
which is whoUy indefensible. Only a love of paradox, or the bias of a
previously conceived theory, could induce any one to controvert the doc-
trine of Mr. Stewart in the text, which expresses the almost unanimous
opinion of the scientific world.

But Mr. Mill avers that geometrical axioms "are experimental axiom!
-— generalizations ttota observation. The proposition, * Two straight lines
cannot inclose aspaoe'««-or in other vrords, 'Two straight lines which
have once met, do not meet again, but contiiltie to diverge' —is an indu<>
tfon ttom. the evidence of oar senses.'*

When it is urged that actual ohsetvatioA is not needed to oOAviuoe as
38*

iSO BBASOXIHG AHD DBDUCTHTE KYIDENOB.

It mart indeed be owned, with respect to the oondosioiii
hilherto mentioned on the subject of space, that the j are rather
of a metaphysical, than ci a mathematical nature ; but they
are nc*t, on that account, the less applicable to our purpose ; for
if the theory of Beddoes had any foundation, it would lead us
to identify with physics the former of these sciences as well as
the latter ; at least, all that part of the former which is em-
ployed about space or extension, — a &vorite object of meta-
physical as well as of mathematical speculation. The truth,
however, is, that §ome of our mekq>h^$ical canclusi<m$ coneernr

of the trnih of this axiom, bnt that our assent is given merely by thinking
of it, or as soon as we understand the meaning of the words, he answers,
" one of the diaracteristic properties of geometrical forms is their capacity
of being punted in the imagination widi a distinctness equal to reality."
These mental pictures are <' just as fit subjects of geometrical experimen-
tation as the realities themselyes." " The foundations of geometry would
therefore be laid in direct experience, even if the experiments, (which in
this case consist merely in attentive contemplation) were practised solely
upon what we call our ideas, — that is, upon the diagrams in our minds,
and not upon outward objects."

But we declare that the lines could not meet even if they were prolonged
to infinity, — a fact which cannot be proved by actual observation, be-
cause we cannot follow them to infinity. Mr. Mill replies, that, without
so following them, " we may know that, if they ever do meet, or indeed
if, after diverging from one another, they begin again to approach, this
must take place, not at an infinite, but at a finite distance. Supposing,
therefore, such to be the case, we can transport ourselves thither in imag-
ination, and can frame a mental image of the appearance which one or
both of the lines must present at that point, which we may rely upon as
being precisely similar to the reality. Now, whether we fix our contem-
plation upon this imaginary picture, or call to mind the generalizations we
have had occasion to make fh>m former ocular observation, we shall either
way be equally satisfied, that a line which, after diverging from another
straight line, begins to approach to it, produces the impression on our
senses which we describe by the expression ' a bent line,' not by the ex-
pression, 'a straight line.'"

The first argument being thus disposed of, we proceed to the second.
** Axioms (it is asserted) are conceived by us not only as true, but as uni-
versally and necessarily true. ISow experience cannot possibly give to
any proposition this character. I may have seen snow a hundred tioiea,
fnd may have seen that it was white ; but ^iiis cannot give me entira

REASONING AND DEDUCTITE EVIDBNCB. 451

fitg space are more nearly allied to geometrical theorems than we
might he disposed at first to apprehend; being involved or im-
plied in the most simple and fundamental propositions which
occur in Eudid's Elements. When it is asserted, for example,
that ^ if one straight line falls on two other straight lines, so
as to make the two interior angles on the same side together
equal to two right angles, these two straight lines, though indefi-
nitely produced, will never meet; " — is not the boundless im-
mensity of space tacitly assumed as a thing unquestionable ?

assurance even that aU snow is white; much less, that snow mutt be
white."

The answer to this argument is really carious, as showing the writer's
incapacity of perceiving the distinction, which is a fundamental one, be-
tween necessary and contingent truths. " I cannot but wonder," sajs Mr.
Mill, ** that so much stress should be laid upon the circumstance of inoon-
oeivableness, when there is such ample experience to show, that our capac-
ity or incapacity of conceiving a thing has verj little to do with the possi-
bility of the thing in itself; but is in truth very much an affair of accident,
and depends upon the past history and habits of our own minds. There
is no more generally acknowledged fact in human nature, than the extreme
difficulty at first felt in conceiving any thing as possible, which is in contra-
diction to long established and familiar experience, or even to old and
familiar habits of thought." "There are remarkable instances of this
in the history of science ; instances in which the wisest men rejected as
impossible, because inconceivable, things which their posterity, by earliei
practice and longer perseverance in the attempt, found it quite easy to
conceive, and which everybody now knows to be true." Mr. Mill pro
ceeds to adduce, as such instances, the fact that there was a time when
men of the most cultivated intellects could not credit the existence of anti-
podes ; could not conceive the force of gravity acting upwards ; or that a
body could act upon the earth at the distance of the sun or moon.

The inference from this reasoning seems to be, that there is no proposi-
tion now regarded as a necessary truth, which may not, at some future
time, come to be generally disbelieved. In the fixture progress of knowl-
edge, he seems to think it may be ascertained that the three angles of a
plane triangle are nci equal to two right angles ! It is certainly not impos-
sible that the sun may not rise to-morrow ; we can easily conceive that it
may not ; though it is a fact attested by universal experience, that, to
every place in the torrid and temperate zones, the sun has risen once
in every twenty-four hours. Yet who does not perceive the difference,
in point of logical certainty, between the proposition that the sun will risa
to-morrow, and the axiom that two straight lines cannot inclose a s|»ac« **

452 SSASOKCrO AKD l>f:i>t70TttE StlDKlTCt.

And is not a uniTertal affinnatioD made with respect to a fwj^
which eoEpenenee is equaUjf incmnpetitU to disprove or to confirm f
In like manner, when it is said, that ^ triangles on the 8ain«
base, and between the sani& parallels are equal," dd we feel our-
selves the less ready to give cmr assent to the demonstration, if
it should be supposed, that the one triangle is confined within
the limits of the paper before us, and that the other, standing
on the same base, has its yertex placed bejond the sphere of
the fixed stars ? In Tarious instances, we are led, with a force
equally imperious, to acquiesce in conclusions, which not oolj
admit of no illustration ot proof firom the perceptions of senses
but which, at first sight, are apt to stagger and confi>und the
faculty of imagination. It is sufficient to mention, as examples
of this, the relation between the hyperbola and its asymptotes,
[which are constantly approaching each other, and yet will not
meet till they Bre extended to infinity] ; and the still more ob*
vious truth of the infinite divisibility of extension. What anal-
ogy is there between such propositions as these, and that which
announces, that the mercury in the Torricellian tube will fall,
if carried up to the top of a mountain ; or that the vibralioDs
of a pendulum of a given length will be performed in the same
time, while it remains in the same latitude ? Were there, in
reality, that analogy between mathematical and physical prop-
ositions, which Beddoes and his followers have &ncied, the
equality of the square of the hypothenuse of a right angled tri-
angle to the squares described on the two other sides, and the
proportion of 1, 2, 3, between the cone and its circumscribed
hemisphere and cylinder, might, with fully as great propriety,
be considered in the light of physical phenomena, as of geomet-
rical theorems. Nor would it have been at all inconsistent vrith
the logical unity of his work, if Mr. Leslie had annexed to his
Elements of Geometry, a scholium concerning the final causes
of circles and of straight lines, similar to that which, with such
sublime efiect, closes the Principia of Sir Isaac Newton,*

* In the course of my own experience, I have met with one person, &i
no common ingenuity, who seemed seriously disposed to consider dra
trtithg of geometry very nearly in this liglit The person I allude to w««

BEASOMING AMD DEDUCTIVE EVIDENCE. 453

2. The geomeUr^s superponHan of triangles is idealj and not
actual — It yet remains for me to say a few words upon that
superposition of triangles^ which is the groundwork of all our
geometrical reasonings concerning the relations which different
species bear to one another in respect of magnitude. And here
I must take the liberty to remark, in the first place, that the
fact in question has been stated in terms much too loose and
incorrect for a logical argument. When it is said, that '' all the

James Ferguson, author of the justly popular works on Astronomy and
Mechanics. In the year 176S, he paid a visit to Edinburgh, when I had
not only an opportunity of attending his public course of lectures, but of
frequently enjoying, in private, the pleasure of his very interesting conver-
sation. I remember distinctly to have heard him say, that he had more
than once attempted to study the Elements of Euclid ; but found himself
quite unable to enter into that species of reasoning. The second proposi-
tion of the first book he mentioned particularly, as one of his stumbling-
blocks at the very outset ; — the circuitous process by which Euclid sets
about an operation which never could puzzle, for a single moment, any
man who had seen a pair of compasses, appearing to him altogether capri-
cious and ludicrous. He added, at the same time, that as there were vari-
ous geometrical theorems of which he had daily occasion to make use, he
had satisfied himself of their truth, eidier by means of his compasses and
scale, or by some mechanical contrivances of his own invention. Of one
of these I have still a perfect recollection; — his mechanical or experi-
mental demonstration of the 47th proposition of Euclid's first book, by
cutting a card so as to afford an ocular proof, that the squares of the two
sides actually filled the same space with the square of the hypothenuse.

To those who reflect on the disadvantages under which Mr. Ferguson
had labored in point of education, and on the early and exclusive hold
which experimental science had taken of his mind, it will not perhaps
seem altogether unaccountable, that the refined and scrupulous logic of.
Euclid should have struck him as tedious, and even unsatisfactory, in
comparison of that more summary and palpable evidence on which his
judgment was accustomed to rest.

** Mr. Ferguson's general mathematical knowledp^," says Dr. Hutton,
*' was little or nothing. Of algebra, he understood little more than the
notation ; and he has often told me he could never demonstrate one pro-
position In Euclid's Elements ; his constant method being to satisfy him-
self, as to (he truth of any problem, with a measurement by scale and
compasses." — Button's MaUiematical and Philoeophical Dictionary article
Ferguson,

454 IIBASONIKO AND DEDtTGTtTB ISTTDTSXtCt.

fundamental theorems which relate to the comparison of trian-
gles, derive their evidence from the mere superposition of the
triangles themselves/' it seems difficult, or rather impossible, to
annex to the adjective m^e, an idea at all different from what
would be conveyed, if the word actual were to be substituted in
its place ; more especially, when we attend to the assertion
which immediately follows, that " this mode of proof is, in real-
ity, nothing but an ultimate appeal, though of the easiest and
most familiar kind, to external observation." But if this be, in
truth, the sense in which we are to interpret the statement
quoted above, (and I cannot conceive any other interpretation
of which it admits,) it must appear obvious, upon the slightest
reflection, that the statement proceeds upon a total misappre-
hension of the principle of superposition ; inasmuch as it is not
to an actual or mere tuperpotitum^ but to an imaginary or ideal
one, that any appeal is ever made by the geometer. Between
these two modes of proof the difference is not only wide, but
radical and essential. The one would, indeed, level geometry
with physics, in point of evidence, by building the whole of its
reasoning on a fact ascertained by mechanical measurement ;
the other is addressed to the understanding, and to the under-
standing alone, and is as rigorously conclusive as it is possible
for demonstration to be.*

* The same remark was, more than fifty years ago, made by D*Aleni-
bert, in reply to some mathematicians on the Continent, who, it would
appear, had then adopted a paradox very nearly approaching to that
which I am now combating. " Le principe de la superposition n'est point,
coinme I'ont pretendu plusieurs geometres, une m^thode de d^montrer
pen exacte et purement m^caniquo. La superposition, telle que les math-
ematleiens la con9oiyent, ne consiste pas k appliquer grossi^rement une
figure snr une autre, pour juger par les yeux de leur ^galite ou de leiir
difference, comme un ouvrier applique son pi^ sur une ligne pour la
mesurer ; elle consiste k imaginer une figure transport^e sur une autre, et
k conclure de V egalit^ suppos^e de certaines parties de deux figures, la
coincidence de ces parties entr'elles, et de leur coincidence la coincidence
du reste : d'oh r^sult^^ T^galit^ et la similitude parfaites d4k figures en-
tiferes."

F" The principle of superposition is not, as many geometers h^^ve sup-

ThAt the T«Moti(iig empld;^ by Btidid iti proof of the ftmrtb
propoflitioA of his fim book is completely dettionstrative, will
he readily granted by thofte who compare its different steps
with the conclasiond to which we were formerly led^ when treat«-
ing of the nature of mathematical demonstration. In none of
these steps is any appeal made to facts resting on the evidence
of sende, nor^ indeed, to any facts whatever. The constant ap-
peal is to the definition of equality.* " Let the triangle A B
€," says Euclid, «* be applied to the triangle D E F ; the point
A to the point D, and the straight line A B to the straight line
D E 5 the poinr B will coincide with the point E, because A B
k equal to D E. And A B coinciding with D E, A C will
eoincide with D F, because the angle B A C is equal to the
togle E D F,** A similar remark will be found to apply to
erery remaining step of the reasoning; and, therefore, tbift
feascming possesses the peculiar characterb^ which distin*
gnisLiet mathematical evidence from that of all the other 8cl«>

posed, an inexact and pniely mechanical mode of demonstration. Super-
position in mathematics does not consist in appljing one fignre to the
other, in order to judge by the eye whether they differ or coincide, just as
a workman applied his foo^mle to a line in order to measure it ; it t^on-
iists in imagining one figure placed ov«r the other, atid concluding, fh>m
the supposed equality of certain parte of the tWo figures, Ae coincideuee
of these parts wiUi each other, and from their coincidence inferring th«
coincidence of the other parts ; whence results the perfect equality and
similitude of the whole figures.*']

About a century before the time when D'Alembert wrote these obsenra-
llobs, a similar riew of the tmbjeet was taken by 1>> Baitow; a writeor
who, like D'Alembert^ added to the ekill aad originality of an inventite
mathematician^ the most refined, and, at the same time, the jastest ideas
concerning the theory of those intellectual processes which are subservient
to mathematical reasoning.

♦ It was before observed, that Euclid's eighth axiom (magnitudes which
coiacide with each other are equal) ought, in point of logical rigor, to
hare been stated in the f<Mtn of a definittoa. In oar present argumeac^
libwever, It is not of material consequence whether this criticism be
adopted or not. Whether we consider the proposition in question in the
light of an axiom or of a definition, it is equally evident, that it does not
express a tatt ascertldned by observatioa or by experiment.

456 RBASOXIHO AKP DBDUCTIYB BTTOBHCX.

enoefl, — that it rests wholly <m hypotheses and definitioiis, and
in no respect upon any statement df facts, true or &lse. The
ideas, indeed, of extension, of a triangle, and of equality, pre-
suppose the exercise of our senses. Nay, the very idea of
superposition involves that of motion, and consequently (as the
parts c£ space are immovable) of a material triangle. Bat
' where is there any thing analogous, in all this, to those sensible
fiicts, which are the principles of our reasoning in physics;
and which, according as they have been accurately or inaccu-
rately ascertained, determine the accuracy or inaccuracy of our
conclusions ? The material triangle itself, as conceived by the
mathematician, is the ohjeely not of sense^ hut of intellecL It is
not an actual measure, liable to expansion or contraction, from
the influence of heat or of cold ; nor doe$ it require, in the ideal
HM which is made of it hj the student, the sHghiett address of
hand or nicety of eye. Even in explaining this demonstration
fi>r the first time to a pupil, how slender soever his cs^»acity
might be, I do not believe that any teacher ever thought of
illustrating its meaning by the actual application of the one tri-
angle to the other. No teacher, at least, would do so, who had
formed correct notions of the nature of mathematical science.

If the justness of these remarks be admitted, the demonstra-
tion in question fnust be allowed to be as well entitled to the
name, as any other which the mathematician can produce ; fiur
as our conclusions relative to the properties of the circle, con-
sidered in the light of hypothetical theorems, are not the less
rigorously and necessarily true, that no material circle may any-
where exists corresponding exactly to the definition of that
figure, so the proof given by Euclid of the fourth proposition
would not be the less demonstrative, although our senses were
incomparaUy less acute than they are, and although no material
triangle continued of the same magnitude for a single instant.
Indeed, when we have once acquired the ideas of equality and
of a common measure, our mathematical conclusions would not
be in the least affected, if all the bodies in the universe should
vanish into nothing.

rV. Of OUB REASOKlNaS CONCERNING PROBABLE OR

BSA«OiriirO AKD DEDI7CTIYB BYIDBNCB. 457

OOMTiKGEHT TBUTHS. 1. Narrow fiM of demonstrative m-
dmee. — If the aeoount which has been given of the nature of
demonstrative evidence be admitted, the province over which it
extends must be limited almost entirely to the objects of pure
mathematics^ A science perfectly analogous to this, in point
of evidence, may, indeed, be conceived, as I have already re-
marked, to consist of a series of propositions relating to moral, .
to political, or to physical subjects ; but as it could answer no
other purpose than to display the ingenuity of the inventor,
hardly any thing of the kind has been hitherto attempted.
The only exception which I can think of, occurs in the specu-
lations formerly mentioned under the title of theoretical me-
ekanics.

On the appUeaiion of mathematics in practical geometry and
physics, — But if the field of mathematical demonstration be
limited entirely to hypothetical or conditional truths, whence, it
may be asked, arises the extensive and the various utility of
mathematical knowledge in our physical researches, and in the
arts of life ? The answer, I apprehend, is to be found in cer-
tain peculiarities of those objects to which the suppositions of
the mathematician are confined ; in consequence of which pecu-
liarities, real combinations of circumstances may fall under the
examination of our senses, approximating far more nearly to
what his definitions describe, than is to be expected in any other
theoretical process of the human mind. Hence a correspond-
ing coincidence between his abstract conclusions, and those facts
in practical geometry and in physics which they help him to
ascertain.

For the more complete illustration of this subject, it may be
observed in the first place, that although the peculiar force of
that reasoning which is properly called mathematical, depends
on the circumstance of its principles being hypothetical, yet if,
in any instance, the supposition could be ascertained as actually
existing, the conclusion might, with the very same certainty, be
applied. If I were satisfied, for example, that in a particular
circle drawn on paper, all the radii were exactly equa^ every
property which Euclid has demonstrated of that curve, might

39

45S ifBASOimm amd »b»oc«vb avitNiiroB.

iM ooniMetitly ftftrmed to btloiig to ibia dkigna^ Ab tiiA tiimgy
however, here Mppoaed, ii rendered impotiible bj the imper^
fectien of our senses, the tmths of gemnetrj ean never, m tkeir
jHtr/tiMil a/9rfri»ilMW#, possess demonstrative evidenee but only
that kind of evidence which oar <Mrgtuis of perception enable as
10 obtain.

But although, in the practical applications of mathematios, UkS
evidence of our conclusions diiters essentially from that which
belongs to the truths investigated in the theory, it does not
therefore follow that these conclusions aJfe the less important
jRi proportion to the atduracy of our data udU ie tkat ^ itU our
tHhiequent dedn^ont ; and it fi>rtunately happens, that the sane
imperfections of sense which limit what is physically attainable
in the former, limit also, to the very same extent, what is prac-
tically usefhl in the latter. The astonishing precision which
the mechanical ingenuity of modem times has given to mathe-
matical instruments, has, in fact, communicated a nicety to the
results of practical geometry, beyond the ordinary demands of
human lifb, and far beyond the most sanguine anttcipaUons of
our forefethers.*

* See a tery interestiiig and able «rtiol«, ia the fifth vokiine of die
Bdinbargh Review, on Colonel Mudge's accoant of the operations car-
ried on for accomplishing a trigonometrical survey of England and Wales.
I cannot deny myself the pleasure of quoting a few sentences.

" In two distances) that werd deduced fh>m ftctd of triangles, the one
measured by General Roy in 17S?, the other by Major Madge in 17B4,
one of 24,133 miles, and the other of 38,688, the two measuies agreed
Within a foot as to the first distance, and sixteen inches as to the seoond.
Such an agreement, where the observers and the instruments were both
different, where the lines measured were of Such extent, and deduced
from such a variety Of data, is probably without any other estample.
Coincidences of this sort vt^ freqaeat ia the trigoBOttetrieal tartay, and
prove how much mors good iuscruaionts, used by skilful and atteatfye
observers^ are capable of petforming^ than the most sanguine theorist
oould have ever ventured to foretell.

" It is curioas to compare the early essays of practical geometry wfth
the perfections to which its operations have now reached, ftUd to consider
that, while the artist had made so Utde progress, the theorist h^d i«#[||^

This remarkable, and indeed singolar coinddenee of propo-
Bitions purely hypothetical, with facts which fall under the
examination of our senses, is owing, as I already hinted, to the
peculiar nature of the objects about which mathematics is con-
versant ; and to the opportunity which we have (in consequence
of that mensurability,* which belongs to all of them) of adjust-
ing, with a degree of accuracy approximating nearly to the
truth, the data from which we are to reason in our practical
operations, to those which are assumed in our theory. The
only affections of matter which these objects comprehend ane
extension and figure ; affections which matter possesses in com-
mon with space, and which may therefore be separated in fact,
as well as abstracted in thought, fi*om all its other sensible qual-
ities* In examining, accordingly, the relations of quantity con-
many of the sttblimest heights of mathematical speculation; that the lat
ter had found out the area of the circle, and calculated its circumferenee
to more than a hundred places of decimals, when the former could hardly
divide an arc into minutes of a degree ; and that many excellent treatises
had been written on the properties of curve lines, before a straight lino
of considerable length had ever been carefully drawn, or exactly meas-
ured on the surface of the earth."

"* In an Essay on Quantity, by Dr. Reid, published in the transactions
of the Royal Society of London, fbr the year 1748, mathematics is very
<mirectly defined to be **th^ dootrim of meaeHrB.'* ** The object of this
science," the author observes, " is commonly said to be quantity ; in whieh
case, quantity ought to be defined, what may be measured. Those who
have defined quantity to be whatever is capable of more or less, have given
too wide a notion of it, which has led some persons to apply mathematical
reasoning to subjects that do not admit of it." The appropriate objects of
this science are therefore such things alone as admit, not only of being in-
creased and diminished, but of being multiplied and divided. In other
words, the common quality which characterizes all of them is their mm-
ewrabilihf.

In the same essay, Dn Reid has illustrated, with much ingenuity, a dis-
tinetion (hinted at by Aristotle) of quantity Into proper and improper.
" I call that," says he, " ^per qmntiiy, which is measured by its oum ^tW;
or which, of its own nature, is capable of being doubled or trebled, with^
out taking In any quantity of a different kind as a measure of it. Thus a
line is measured by known lines, as inches, feet, or miles ; and the length
of a foot being known, there can be no question about the length of iWo

480 RBAsoNnre and dedvctite evidence.

nected with these affections, we are not liable to be disturbed
by those physical accidents, which, in the other applications of
mathematical science, necessarily render the result more or
less at variance with the theory. In measuring the height of a
mountain, or in the survey of a country, if we are at due pains
in ascertaining our data, and if we reason from them with math-
ematical strictness, the result may be depended on as accurate
within very narrow limits ; and as there is nothing but the in-
correctness of our data by which the result can be vitiated, the
limits of possible error may themselves be assigned. But in
the simplest applications of mathematics to mechanics or to
physics, the abstractions which are necessary in the theory, must
always leave out circumstances which are essentially connected
with the effect. In demonstrating, for example, the property
of the lever, we abstract entirely from its own weight, and con-
sider it as an inflexible mathematical line ; — suppositicms with
which the fact cannot possibly correspond ; and for which, of
course, allowances (which nothing but physical experience can
enable us to judge of) must be made in practice.

Next to practical geometry, properly so called, one of the

feet, or of any part or multiple of a foot. This known length, bj being
multiplied or divided, is sofficient to give us a distinct idea of any lengdi
whatsoever.

" hKpmper quantity is that which cannot be meantnd 2y its own land, but to
which we assign a measure in some proper quantity that is related to it
Thus velocity of motion, when we consider it by itself, cannot be measured.
We may perceive one body to move faster, another slower, but we can per-
ceive no proportion or ratio between their velocities, without taking in
some quantity of another kind to measure them by. Having therefore
observed, that by a greater velocity, a greater space is passed over in the
same time, by a less velocity a less space, and by an equal veloci^ an
equal space ; we hence learn to meanare velocity by Ae space passed over in
a given time, and to reckon it to be in exact proportion to that ; and hav-
ing once assigned this measure to it, we can then, and not till then, con-
oei re one velocity exactly double, or triple, or in any proportion to another.
We can then introduce it into mathematical reasoning, without danger of
error or confusion ; and may use it as a measure of other improper
%aautities."

easiest applications of mathematical theory occurs in those
branches of i>ptt€$ which are distinguished by the name of
catoptrics and dioptriei. In these, the physical principles from
which we reason are few and precisely definite, and the rest
of the process is as purely geometrical as the Elements of
£uclid.

In that part of astronMntf, too, which relates solely to the
phenomena, without any consideration of physical causes, our
reasonings are purely geometrical. The data, indeed, on which
we proceed, must have been previously ascertained by observi^
tion ; but the inferences we draw from these are connected with
them by mathematical demonstration, and are accessible to all
who are acquainted with the theory of spherics.

In physical astronomy, the law of gravitation becomes also a
principle or datum in our reasonings ; but, as in the celestial
phenomena it id disengaged from the eflfects of the various
other causes which are combined with it near the surface of our
planet, this branch of physics, as it is of all the most sublime^
and comprehensive in its objects, so it seems, in a greater
degree than any other, to open a fair and advantageous field for
mathematical ingenuity.

On the fundamenttd law of belief involved in all our reaeoH'^
ings about contingent truths, — In the instances which have
been last mentioned, the evidence of our conclusions resolves
ultimately not only into that of sense, but into another law of
belief formerly mentioned ; that which leads us to expect the
continuance, in future, of the established order of physical phe-
nomena. A very striking illustration of this presents itself in
the computations of the astronomer ; on the faith of which he
predicts, with the most perfect assurance, many centuries before
they happen, the appearances which the heavenly bodies are to
exhibit. The same fact is assumed in all our conclusions in
natural philosophy ; and something extremely analogous to it
in all our conclusions concerning human affairs. They relate,
in both casc^, not to necessary connections, but to probable or
contingent events; of which, how confidently soever we mny
expect them to take plaoci the failure is by no means perc^3iv(:d

39*

462 BBA80KIK6 AHD DBDUCTiyE ETIDBNGB.

to be impoesible* Such conclusionsy therefore, differ essentially
from those to which we are led bj the demonstrations of pure
mathematics, which not onlj command our assent to the theo-
rems thej establish, but satisfy us that the contrary suppositions
are absurd.

These examples maj suffice to convey a general idea of the
distinction between demonstrative and probable evidence ; and
I purposely borrowed them from sciences where the two are
brought into immediate contrast with each other, and where the
authority of both has hitherto been equally undisputed.

Before prosecuting any further the subject of probable evi-
dence, some attention seems to be due, in the first place, to the
grounds of that fundamental supposition on which it proceeds, —
* the stability of the order of nature. Of this important sub-
ject, accordingly, I propose to treat at some length.

2* Of the permanence or ttdbiUty in the order of naJturej
which is presupposed in our reckonings concerning contingent
truths, — In the language of modem science, the established
order in the succession of physical events, is commonly referred
(by a sort of figure or metaphor) to the general laws of
nature.* It is a mode of speaking extremely convenient from
its conciseness, but is apt to suggest to the fancy a groundless,
and, indeed, absurd analogy between the materioTBnd the
moral worlds. As the order of society results from the laws
prescribed by the legislator, so the order of the universe is
conceived to result from certain laws established by the Deity.
Thus, it is customary to say, that the fall of heavy bodies to-
wards the earth's surface, the ebbing and flowing of the sea,
and the motions of the planets in their orbits, are consequences
of the law of gravitation. But although, in one sense, this
may be abundantly accurate, it ought always to be kept in
view, that it is not a literal, but a metaphorical, statement of the
truth ; a statement somewhat analogous to that poetical expres-
sion in the sacred writings, in which God is said '^to have
given his decree to the seas, that they should not [^s his com-

* [See lote to page 6.]

BKASOKmO AKD DEDtTCTIVE EVIDENCE. 463

mandmenf In those political associations from which the
metaphor is borrowed, ihe laws are tiddressed to rational and
voluntary agents^ who are able to comprehend their meaning,
and to regulate their conduct accordingly; whereas, in the
material universej the subjects of our observation are under-
stood bj all men to be uncomciout andpamve^ (that is, are un-
derstood to be unchangeable in their state, without the influence
of some foreign and external force;) and consequently, the
order so admirably maintained, amidst all the various changes
which they actually undergo, not only implies intelligence in
its first conception, but implies, in its continued existence, the
incessant agency of pawery executing the purposes of wise
design. If the word law^ therefore, be, in such instances, lit-
erally interpreted, it must mean a uniform mode of operation '
prescribed by the Deity to himself; and it has accordingly
been explained in this sense by some of our best philosophical
writers, particularly by Dr. Clarke. In employing, however,
the word with an exclusive reference to experimental philoso-
phy, it is more correctly logical to consider it as merely a state-
ment of some general fact with respect to the order of nature ;
a fact which has been found to hold uniformly in our past expe-
rience, and on the continuance of which, in future, the constitu-
tion of our mind determines us confidently to rely.

27ie laws of nature are not efficient causes. — After what has
been already said, it is hardly necessary to take notice of the
absurdity of that opinion, or rather of that mode of speaking,
which seems to refer the order of the universe to general laws
operating as efficient causes.* Absurd, however, as it is, there

* [Those who have not reflected much upon the subject, are apt to
imagine that a phenomenon is accounted fxr^ or in other words, that its
cause %8 discovered^ when we have succeeded in referring it to some Law of
Nature that was previously known, and with the operation of which we
have become familiar. Thus, as Franklin discovered that the lightning is
im electrical phenomenon, — that is, that it manifests the same appear-
ances, and is followed by the same results, that attend the electricity which
U developed by rubbing a glass tube, — he is popularly said to have dis-
forered ihe cause of the lightning. But it should be remembered that tht

464 ttusoHino Aim t>i:i>tT<mtB vtmtitoft.

ifl reawm t6 suspect, fhal it hM^ with i&ftfty, had the efi^ of
keeping the Deity out of view, while thej were Btudjihg lifn
works. To an incautioiiB use of the Btune very eqoivoeal
phrase, maj be traced the bewlMering obscoritj in the specolft^
tions of some eminent French writers, concerning its meta^
physical import Eten the great Montesquieti, in the very first
chapter of his principal work, has lost himself in a fruitless
attempt to exphdn its meaning, when, by a simple statement <3i

cause of electricity still remains to be ascertained. All that Franklin ao-
complished was to refer certain l>heiiom6na, which had hitherto been iso-
lated, or had fbrmed a class by thettsslves, to a dati of other pheaomens,
«^€hMema» be better known oaly bseatass they an iMtt flitauliar im tti,
and can be reprodaoed at ptoasare*

" What is called explaining one law of nature hj another/' nys Mr.
Mill, " is bat substituting one mystery for another ; and does nothing t6
render the general course of nature other than mysterious ; We can no
more assign a «% for the taiore extensite laws than Ibr ^ partial ones.
The explanactoa may rabedtate a mystery which has become famaitt, sad
has grown to seem not dkysterioas, for one wiiidi is sttli atniage* And
this is the meaning of explanaiionf in common parlance. But the process
with which we are here concerned, often does the very contrary ; it resolves
a phenomenon with which we are familiar, into one of which we prerionsly
knew little or nothing; as where the common fhct of the fkU of heavy
bodies is resolved into a teadeaey of all panieles of mailer towards one
another. It mast be kept constantly in view» therefore, tliat when pidloso-
phers speak of explaining any of the phenomena of nature, they always
mean, pointing out, not some more fkmiliar, but merely some more gen-
eral, phenomenon of which it is a partial exemplification.^'

" The lawe thns explained or resolved, are sometimes wdd to be ae-
tsimted/bt; but the expretsioa is inoorvecC, if tekea to mean any liitiig
more than what has been already stated. In minds not habitoated to
accurate thinking, there is often a confused notion that the general laws
are the causes of the partial ones ; that the law of general gravitation, for
example, causes the phenomena of the fall of bodies to the earth. But
to assert this, would be a misuse of the word cause; terrestrial gravity is
not an effect of general gravitation, but a case of it ; that is, one kind of
the particuhir instances in which that general law obtains. To acconnt
for a law of nature means, and can mean, no more than to assign other
laws more general, together with collocations, which laws and collocations
being supposed, Ae partial law follows without ahy additional supposi-
ttott."— Mill's Loffic, pp. 27S, J77.]

tbe essential diatinctioa betweeu its Utwal and its mdaiphmcaU
acceptations^ h^ might have at onoe cleared up the mjsterj^
After telling us that '^ laws, in their moat extensive significa-
tion, are the necessary relations (Jes rapports necessaires) which
arise from the nature of things, and that, in this sense, all
beings have their laws )<^ that the Deitj has his laws; the
material world its laws; Intelligences snperior to man their
laws ; the bmtes their laws ; man his laws ; ** he proceeds to
remark, ^ That the moral world is far from being so well gov-
erned as the material ; for the former, although it has its laws,
which are invariable, does not observe these laws so constantly
as the latter." It is evident that this remark derives whatever
plausibility it possesses from a plg^ upon U}tifrd$ ; £rom confound*
ing moral laws with physical; or» in plainer terms, fxom con-
founding laws which are addressed by a legislator to intelligent
beings, with those general conclusions concerning the established
Mrder of the universe, to which, when legitimately inferred from
an induction sufficiently ej^tensive, philosophers have metaphor^
ically applied the title^ of Laws of Nature, In the one case,
the conformity of the law with the nature of things does Hot
at aU depend on its fmujf obmrv^ or not, but on the reasonable-
ness and moral obligation of the law. In the other case, the
very definition of the word law supposes that it applies iim-
versaMy ; insomuch that, if it failed in one single instance, it
would cease to he a law. It is, therefore, a mere quibble to say,
that the laws of the material world are better observed than
those of the moral ; the meaning of the word laiw, in the two
cases to which it is here applied, being so totally different, as to
render the comparison or ecmtrast, in the statement of which it
is involved, altogether illusory and sophistical. Indeed, nothing
more is necessary to strip the proposition of every semblance
of plausibility, but an attention to this verbal ambiguity.

This metaphorical employment of the word law, to express a
general fact, although it does not appear to have been adopted
in the technical phraseology of ancient philosophy, is not un-
usual among the classical writers, when speaking of those phys*

466 KBASONIKO AHD DEDVCTiyS BTIDBKCX.

ical arrangements, whether on the earth or in the heavensy
which continue to exhibit the same appearance fiom age to age.

" Hie segetes, illic yeniant felidiu VLrm :
Arborei fetiu alibi, atqae injussa yiresccmt
Oramina. Nonne Tides, crooeoa at Tmoloa odores,
India mittit ebur, mollM tua thus 8ab«i f
At Cbalybet nadi ferram, yiroaaqne Pontaa
CaBtorea, Eliadnm palmas Epiros eqaaram f
Continao hta$ Uga, €Blernaque/oBdera oertii
ImpotuU nOtura locU/'

Yiig. Geoxg. i. 60>

The same metaphor occurs in another passage of the Greorg-
ics, where the poet describes the regularity which is exhibited
in the economj of the bees : —

" Sol« oommimes natof , consortia tecta
TJibis habent, magmtqit^ agitant tub UgibuM iBYam."

Geoig. IT. 153.t

The following Unes fix>m Ovid's account of the Pythagorean
philosophy, are still more in point : —

" £t renun causas, et quid natara dotebat;
Qaid Dens : Undo nires : qu« folminifl esset origo :
Jupiter, an venti, discussa nnbe tonarent*:
Quid quateret terras, 911^ sidera lege mearent^
£t quodcunque latet."

Oyid. Met. zt. 68.|

• [** Here golden eorn, there Inaeioiis grspef abouBjd,

There greas fpontaneoue, or rieh finite are foond;

8ee*st thou not Tmolaa nAron nreeto dispcBfti

Hex iTory Ind, Arabk frankinoenn,

The naked Ohalybes their iron ore ?

To Castor Pootos glre* ite fetid poww ;

While, fer Olymple garnet, B^ma breeds,

To whirl the cireUng car, the swiftest steeds.

Naiwn then lamt and tkut OmuU bamdt

Vint fixed on eertain cUmes and eertain lands.*'

Warton>s trandatloB.]
t [" Th«]r, they alone a general interest share,

Their young eommittfng to the pnblie care,

And all eoncorrlng in the common cause.

Live in fixed <dties wuUr common knosJ*

WarUm.]

1 1« WhOe he diflcooised of hcaTBn'0 mysterfons lawi,
The worlds ordinal andnatalw'scanaa;

BEASONINO ANl) DEDUCTIVE EVIDER'OB. 467

Sagacity and foresight dependent on the uniformity of the
laws of nature. — I have quoted these different passages from
ancient authors, chiefly as an illustration of the strength and
of the similaritj of the impression which the order of nature
has made on the minds of reflecting men, in all ages of the

And what was Ood, and why the Hee^ mowi

In lUenee fell, and rattling wfaida arofle

That ahook the ateadfest earth, and whence hcgu*

The danoe of planets round the radiant son ;

If thunder was the uigry Toiee of Jove,

Or clouds with nitre fragrant hurst above ;—•

Of tiuee, and things beyond the oommon readi,

He 8p<dce, and charmed his andienoe with his speech.**

Dxydem's translatioii.]

I shall only add to these quotations the epigram of Claudian on the
instniment said to be inyented bj Archimedes for representing the move-
ments of the heavenly bodies, in which various expressions occur coincid*
iog remarkably with the scope of the foregoing observations.

*< Jupiter in parvo cum cemeret astiiera vitro

Bisit, et ad snperos talia dlcat dedit.
Hneeine mortalis progressa potentia cuns ;

Jam mens in fragili luditnr orde labor.
Jura Poli, remmque fldem, legesque Deorom

Bdbe Syraeusins truistnlit arte senex
Jndusus TBiiis femulatur spiritus astris,

Xt TiTum oertis motibns uiget opus.
Fercurrit proprinm mentitns signifer annum,

Xt slmulata SOTO Oynthia mense redit.
Jamque sunm volvms audax industria mundum

Oaudet, et humana sidera mente regit.
Quid felso insontem tonitru Salmomea miicr t

JEmula natnrsB parra reperta maaus.*'

[ When Jore beheld a crystal globe display

The world, he thus addressed Olympus' trafai . —
Oan mortals o'er the sphere posBess such sway,

And such a t(iy my power deride as vain?
Oreat Heaven's decrees, th' unerring course of things,

Laws of the gods, expounds Skdlia's sage ;
The flight of stars imprisoned air hers wings,

Its simple powers their Taxying movements guage ;
The Zodiac here revolves its little year,

Tlie mimic moons succeeding months restore ;
The spheres by human art attuned are here,

Impelled by it the stars in ether soar.
Instructed hence, no longer view with wonder
' chariot aiMl t is bridge of thunder.

Wrist's traastaMon.]

468 ««AftOmN0 AM0 PSDUCTITS KYIPSNCS,

marld* Nor ia this wonderful } for, were things differently con-
otitutedt it would be impossible for man to derive benefit from
experienoe ; and the powers of obseryatioii and memory would
bo tobeervient only to the gratification of an idle curiosity,* In
eonsoquenee of those uniform laws by which the succession of
events is actually regulated, every fact collected with respect to
the past is a foundation of sagacity and of skill with respect to
the future ; and, in truth, it ia chiefly this appUcalion of expe-
rience to anticipate what is yet to happen, which forms the in-
tellectual superiority of one individual over another. The
remark holds equally in all the various porsoits of mankind,
whether speculative or active. As an astronomer is able, by
reasonings founded on past observations, to predict those phe-
Aomesa of the heavens which astonish or terrify the savage ; —
as the chemist, from his previous familiarity with the changes
operated upon bodies by heat or by mixture, can predict the
result of innumerable experiments, which to others furnish only
matter of amusement and wonder; — so a studious observer of
human affairs acquires a prophetic foresight (still more incom-
prehensible to the multitude) with respect to the future fortunes
of mankind ; — a foresight which, if it does not reach, like our
anticipations in physical science, to partieular and definite
events, amply compensates for what it wants in precision, by
the extent and variety of the prospects which it opens. It is
from this apprehended anoiogy between the Juture cmd the pcut,
that historical hnowUdge d$riv€S the whole of its vsdue ; and were
the analogy completely to fail, the records of fbrmer ages would,
in point of utility» rank with the fictions of poetry. Nor is the
case different in the business of common life* Upon what does
the success of men in their private concerns so essentially de-
pend as on their own prudence ; and what else does this word
mean, than a wise regard, in every step of their conduct, to the
lessons which experience has taught them ?

Illustrations of the uniformity of natural laws. — The depart-

* [See note to page 214.]

BEASONIK6 AND DEDUCTIYB SYIDENCE. 4611

izients of the universe in which we have an opportunity of see-
ing this regular order displayed, are the three following : — 1.
Xhe phenomena of inanimate matter; 2. The phenomena of
t/ie lower cmimals ; and, 3. The phenomena exhibited by the
human race.

1. On the first of these heads, I have only to repeat what
was before remarked, That in aU the phenomena of the mcUerial
tfforldy the tmiformity in the order of events is conceived In/ us to
he complete and infallible; insomuch that, to be assured of the
same result upon a repetition of the same experiment, we re-
quire only to be satisfied, that both have been made in circum-
stances precisely similar. A single experiment, accordingly, if
conducted with due attention, is considered, by the most cautious
inquirers, as sufficient to establish a general physical fact ; and
if, on any occasion, it should be repeated a second time, for the
sake of greater certainty in the conclusion, it is merely with a
view of guarding against the effects of the accidental concomi-
tants which may have escaped notice, when the first result was
obtained.

2. The case is nearly similar in the phenomena exhibited by
the brutes, the various tribes of which furnish a subject of ex-
amination so steady, that the remarks made on a few individiuds
may he extended, with little risk of error, to the whole species.
To this uniformity in their instincts it is owin^ that man can so
easily maintain his empire over them, and employ them as
agents or instruments for accomplishing his purposes ; advan-
tages which would be wholly lost to him, if the operations of
instinct were as much diversified as those of human reason.
Here, therefore, we may plainly trace a purpose or design, per^
fectly analogous to that already remarked, with respect to the
laws which regulate the material world ; and the difference in
point of exact uniformity, which distinguishes the two classes
of events, obviously arises from a certain latitude of action,
which enables the brutes to accommodate themselves, in some
measure, to their accidental situations ; — rendering them, in
consequence of this power of accommodation, incomparably
more sermcecible to our race than they would have been, if alto-

40

470 BEASOKINO AND DEBUCTITE ETIDENCE.

gether Babjected, like mere matter, to the influence of reg^olar
and assignable causes. It is, moreover, extl^melj worthy of
observation, concerning these two departments of the universe,
that the uniformity in the phenomena of the latter [the brutes]
pretyppoeee a corresponding regrdarity in the phenomena of the
former [inanimate matter] ; insomuch that, if the established
order of the material world were to be essentiallj disturbed
(the instincts of the brutes remaining the same) aU their various
tribes would inevitably perish. The uniformity of animal in-
stinct, therefore, bears a reference to the constancy and inmiu-
tability of physical laws, not less manifest, than that of the fin
of the fish to the properties of the water, or of the wing of the
bird to those of the atmosphere.

8. When from the phenomena of Inanimate matter and those
of the lower animals, we turn our attention to the history of our
own species, innumerable lessons present themselves for the
instruction of all who reflect seriously on the great concerns of
human life. These lessons require, indeed, an uncommon de-
gree of acnteness and good sense to collect them, and a still
more uncommon degree of caution to apply them to practice ;
not only because it is difficult to find cases in which the combi-
nations of circumstances are exactfy the same, but because the
pecuHaritiet of individual ehtnyxeter are infinite, and tlie real
springs of action in our fellow-creatures are objects only of
vague and doubtful conjecture. It is, however, a curioiis.,^£ftct,
and one which opens a wide field of interesting speculation,
that, in proportion as we extend our views from particulars to
generals^ tmd from individttah to communities^ human affairs
exhi^t more tmd more, a steady subject of philosophical examine
ation^ and furnish a yreateir number of general conclusions to
guide our conjectures concerning future contingencies. To
speculate concerning the character w talents of the individual
who shall possess the throne of a particular kingdom a hundred
years hence, would be absurd in the extreme : but to indulge
imagination in anticipating, at the same distance of tinie, the
condition and character of any great nation, with whose man-
ners and political situation we are well acquainted, (althou^

BSAS0K1KG AKD DfiDtJCTtTE BVIDENOE. 471

^ -n here our eonelusions may be widely erroneous,) could not
be justly censured as a misapplicaticm of our faculties equally
vain and irrational with the former. On this subject Mr. Hume
has made s<Mne rery ingenious and importuit remaiics in the
beginning of his Essay on the Bise and Progress of the Arts
and Sciences.*

UnifarmiUy in the general resuU preserved amidst unbounded
variety in the partietdars. --^The same observation is applicable

* [The following is the passage referred to.

" Nothing requires greater nicety, in our inquiries concerning human
affairs, than to distingnish exactly what is owing to chance, and what pro
ceeds fhmi ccaua; nor is there any subject in which an author is more lia-
Ue to deceire himself by fiilse snbtilties and refinements. To say that
any erent is derived from chance, cuts short all further inquiry concerning
it, and leaves the writer in the same state of ignorance with the rest of
mankind. But when the event is supposed to proceed ftom certain and
stable causes, he may then display his ingenuity in assigning these causes ;
and as a man of any subtiity can never be at any loss in this particular, he
has thereby an opportunity of swelling his volumes, and discovering his
profound knowledge in observing what escapes the vulgar and ignorant.

** The distinguishing between chance and causes must depend upon every
particular man's sagacity in considering every particular incident. But if
I were to assign any general rule to help us in app^ing this distinction, it
wottld be the following : What depends upon a few perwM is, in agreat meaa"
tone, lake (uciibed to dujuux; what ariseB from a grecA number may often be ao*
ccnmledfir by detenninate and known causes,

*' Tiro natural reasons may be assigned for this rule. First, if yon sup-
pose a die to have any Mas, however small, to a particular side, this bias,
tliongh pciiiaps it may not appear in a few throws, will certainly prevail in
a great number, and will cast the balance enthely to that side. In like
mannei, when any causes beget a particular inclination or passion, at a
certain time, and among a certain people, though many individuals may
escape the contagion, and be ruled by passions peculiar to themselves, yet
the miltitude will certainly be seized by the common affection, and be
govemtd by it in all their actions.

"Seamdhf, those principles or causes which are fitted to operate on a
multitfde, are always of a grosser and more stubborn nature, less subject
to accidents, and less influenced by whim and private fimcy, than those
which operate on a few only. The latter are commonly so delicate and
refined^ that the smallest incident in the health, education, or fortune of a
partici^ person, is sufficient to divert their course and retard their operas

472 BEAsoNma and depuctiye stidenoii.

to aU other cases in which events depend on a multiplicitj of
circumstances. How accidental soever these circumstances may
appear, and how much soever they may be placed, when indi-
vidually considered, bejond the reach of our calculations, expe-
rience shows, that they are somehow or other mutually adjusted,
so as to produce a certain degree of uniformity in the result,
and this uniformity is the more complete, the greater is the
number of circumstances combined. What can appear more un-
certain than the proportion between the sexes among the chil->
dren of any one &mily ? and yet how wonderfully is the bal-

tion ; nor is it possible to rednce them to any general maxims or obsenra-
tions. Their influence at one time will never assure as concerning their
influence at another, even though ali the general circumstances should be
the same in both cases.

** To judge by this rule, the domestic and the gradj^l revolutions of a
state must be a more proper subject of reasoning and observation than the
foreign and the violent, which are commonly produced by single persons,
and are more influenced by whim, folly, or caprice, than by general pas-
sions and interests. The depression of the Lords, and the rise of the
Commons in England, after the statutes of alienation and the increase of
trade and industry, are more easily accounted for by general principles,
than the depression of the Spanish and rise of the French monarchy after
the death of Charles Quint. Had Harry lY., Cardinal Richelieu, and
Louis XIV. been Spaniards, and PhQip II., Philip III., PhUip IV., and
Charles II. been f^nchmen, the history of these two nations had been
entirely reversed.

" For the same reason, it is more easy to account for the rise and pro-
gress of commerce in any kingdom, than for that of learning ; and a state,
which should apply itself to the encouragement of one, would be more
assured of success than one which should cultivate the other. Avarice,
or the desire of gain, is an universal passion, which operates at all times,
in all places, and upon all persons ; but curiosity, or the love of knowledge,
has a very limited influence, and requires youth, leisure, education, genius,
and example to make it govern any person. You will never want book-
sellers, while there are buyers of books ; but there may frequently be
readers, where there are no authors. Multitudes of people, necessity, and
liberty have begotten commerce in Holland ; but study and application
have scarcely produced any eminent writers." — Hume's Works, UL 119-
121. •

As society is composed only of individuals, the movements and aspects
df society could not be predicted, if the actions of the individual memben

BBASOKIKa AND DCDUCTITE ETIDENCE. 473

maoe preserved in the case of a numerous society ! What more
precarious than the duration of life in an indiyidual ? and yet,
in a long list of persons of the same age, and placed in the
same circumstances, the mean duration of life is found to vary
within very narrow limits. In an extensive district, too, a con-
siderable degree of regularity may sometimes be traced for a
course of years, in the proportion of birthq and of deaths to the
number of the whole inhabitants. Thus, in France, Necker
informs us, that '' the number of births is in proportion to that
of the inhabitants as one to twenty-three and twenty-four, in
the districts that are not favored by nature, nor by moral cir-
cumstances ; this proportion is as one to twenty-five, twenty-
were not, at least in certain respects, snbject to law. The reality and the
possibility of such sciences as politics and political economy, depend on
the known facts, that the actions of men are influenced by motives, that
there are certain leading motives, such as the desire of life, health, free*
dom, and property, which are common to all men, and therefore that the
conduct of men on certain occasions, and to a certain extent, can be an*
ticipated with full confidence that the prediction will be justi4ed by the
result. Were it not so, no general maxims could be established in political
or social science, and no lessons could be derived from history. The con-
duct of B&en offers the same combination of uniformity with variety, of
unity of principle underlying innumerable differences of detail, which is
seen in the works of God in the external universe. According as the ob*
server stands nearer or further off, according as his object is to arrange
and classify for the purposes of science, or to particularize for the sake of
description, so will he be more struck with the evidences of order and uni-
formky, or with those of diversity and fluctuation. Look at great masses
of men only from a distance, at which minute peculiarities are lost in the
general effects, (just as the sounds from a distant city are blended in one
hoi loir murmur,) and they appear like machines, or rather the multitude
itself seems one great machine. But examine microscopically the conduct
of an individual for two successive hours, and it appears a mass of incon*
sistencies, motiveless alterations, and oddities that baffle all computation
and foresight. The mil alone, it is true, is changeful and irregular, its
yery eaprlce indicating its freedom ; but taiU, when influenced by some
ruling passion and enlightened by reason, is comparatively steady and uni-
form in its operations ; and wiU enlightened by infinite wisdom, we may
presume, knows no change of purpose or shifting of means, but reconciley
perfect order with endless variety. And such is the character, both of the
material and moral universe.]

40*

474 BBASomro axb disductiye byipekce*

five and a half, and twenfynnxt In the greatest part <£ Franee;
in cities, as one to twenjt7-8even, twenty-eight, twenty-nine, and
even thirty, according to their extent and their trade." " Such
proportions," he dbsenres, ^ can only he remarked in distaricts
where there are no settlers nor emigrants; hat even the
differences arising from these (the same author adds), and
many other causes, acquire a kind of uniformity, when opUec-
tiYely considered, and in the immense extent of so great a
kingdom."

It may he worth while to remark, that it is on these princi-
ples that all the different institutions for assurances [insurance]
are founded. The ohject at which they all aim, in 4x>mmoni, is,
to diminish the number of accidents to which human life is ex-
posed, or rather to counteract the inconveniences resulting firom
the irregularity of individual events, by the unifbrmily o£ gen-
eral laws.

7%0 idea of a great cycle in the order of events. — The ad-
vantages which we derive from such general conclusions as we
possess concerning the order of nature are so great, and our
propensity to believe in its existence is so strong, that, even in
cases where the succession of events appears the most anoma-
lous, we are apt to suspect the operation of fixed and constant
laws, though we may be unable to trace them. The vulgar, in
all countries, perhaps, have a propensity to imagine, that, af^
a certain number of years j ike succession of phntifkd and of
scanty harvests begins again to be repeated in the same series as
before, a notion to which Lord Bacon himself has given some
countenance in the following passage : '' There is a toy which I
have heard, and I would not have it given over, but waited
upon a little. They say it is observed in the Low Countries,
(I know not in what part,) that every five-and-thirty years, the
same kind and suite of years and weathers comes about again ;
as great frosts, great wet, great droughts, warm winters, sum-
mers with little heat, and the* like ; and they call it the prime.
It is a thing I do the rather mention, because, computing hack-
wards, I have foujid some concurrence."

Among the philosophers of antiquity, the influence of the

BEASOXING AND DEDUCTIVE ETIDENCE. 475

Bame prejudice is observable on a scale still greater^ many of
them having supposed, that at the end of the annus magnus, or
Platonic year, a repetition would commence of all the transac-
tions that have occurred on the theatre of the world. Accord-
ing to this doctrine, the predictions in Virgil's Pollio will,
sooner or later, be literallj accomplished : —

"Alter erit turn Typhis, et altera quad vehat Argo
Delectos Heroas ; enint etiam altera bella ;
Atqae iterum ad Trojam magnas mittetur Achilles."*

[" And other Argos bear the chosen powers ;
New wars the bleeding nations shall destroy.
And great Achilles find a second Troy."]

The ctstranomtcal cycles which the Greeks borrowed from the
Egyptians and Chaldeans, when combined with that natural
bias of the mind which I have just remarked, account suffi-
ciently for this extension to the moral world, of ideas suggested
by the order of physical phenomena.

Use made hy the fatalists of this conjecture. — Nor is this
hypothesis of a moral cycle, extravagant as it unquestionably
is, without its partizans among modem theorists. The train of
thought, indeed, by which they have been led to adopt it, is
essentially different; but it probably received no small degree
of countenance in their opinion, from the same bias which influ-
enced the speculations of the ancients. It has been demon-
straled by one of the most profound mathematicians of the

* " Turn efficitnr/' says Cicero, speaking of this period, '* cum soUs et
lans, et qainqae errantinm ad eandem inter se, comparationem confectis
omnium spatiis, est facta conversio. Qnte qnkm longa sit, magna qaaes-
tio est ; esse vero certam et definitam necesse est." [It is then effected,
when the revolutions of the sun and moon and five planets being com-
pleted, they have come round to the same relative place with each other
as before. How long this period may be, is a great question ; but it must
necessarily bo a fixed and definite period.] — De Nat. Deorum, lib. ii. 74
•* Hoc intervallo," Clavius observes, " quidam volunt, omnia quiecunque
in mnndo sunt, eodem ordine esse reditura, quo nunc cernnntur." [After
this interval, some maintain, all things in the world will come round into
the stme order in which they are now.] — Clav, Cammentat . tn Spltaaram

476 B1BAS0KIN6 AlfD DEDUCTIVE EVIDENCE.

present age, (M. de la Grange,) that all the irregularities aris-
ing from the mutual action of the planets are, by a combination
of various arrangements, necessarily subjected to certain peri-
odical laws, so as forever to secure the stability and order of
the system. Of this sublime conclusion, it has been justly and
beautifully observed, that " after Newton's theory of the ellip-
tic orbits of the planets. La Grange's discovery of their period-
ical inequalities, is, without doubt, the noblest truth in physical
astronomy ; while, in respect of the doctrine of final causes, it
may truly be regarded as the greatest of all." The theorists,
however, to whom I at present allude, seem disposed to con-
sider it in a very different light, and to employ it for purposes
of a very different tendency. '^ Similar periods, it has been
8aid, but of an extent that affright the imagination, probably
regulate the modifications of the atmosphere ; inasmuch as the
same series of appearances must inevitably recur, whenever a
coincidence of circumstances take place. The aggregate labors
of men, indeed, may be supposed, at first sight, to alter the
operation of natural causes, by continually transforming the
face of our globe ; but it must be recollected that, as the agency
of animals is itself stimulated and determined solely by the
influence of external objects, the reactions of Uvirkg beings are
comprehended in the same necessary system ; and, consequently,
that all the events within the immeasurable circuit of the uni-
verse, are the successive evolution of on extended series,
which, at the return of some vast period, repeats its eternal
round during the endless flux of time."*

♦ The foregoing passage is transcribed from an article in the Monthly
Review. I have neglected to mark the volame ; but I think it is one of
those pablished since 1800.

From some expressions in this quotation. It would seem that the writer
conRidered it as now established by mathematical demonstration, not only
that a provision is made for maintaining the order and the stability of the
solar system ; but that, after certain periods, all the changes arising from
the mutual actions of the planets, begin again to be repeated over in an
invariable and eternal round ; — or rather, tliat all this is the result of th«
necessary properties of matter and of motion. The truth is, that thii

BEASONIITG AND DEDUCTIVE EVIDENCE. 477

On this verj bold argument, considered in its connecticm
with the scheme of necessity, I have nothing to observe here.
I have mentioned it merely as an additional proof of that irre-
sistible propensity to believe in the permanent order of physi-
cal events, which seems to form an original principle of the
human constitution ; — a belief essential to our existence in the
world which we inhabit, as well as the foundation of all physi-
cal science; but which, we ohviously extend far beyond the
bounds authorized by sound philosophy, when we apply it, with'
out any limitation, to that moral system, which is distinguished
by peculiar characteristics, so numerous and important, and for
the accommodation of which, so many reasons entitle us to pre-

assumption is quite unfounded, in point of fact ; and that the astronomi-
cal discoTery in question, affords not the slightest analogical presumption
in favor of a moral cycle ; — even on the supposition, that the actions of the
human race^ and the motions of the globes which they inhabit, were 6of/>
equally subjected to the laws of mechanism.

The quotation which gave occasion to the foregoing stricture, induces
me to add, before concluding this note, that when we speak of La Grange's
Demonstration of the stability of the solar system, it is hy no means to he
understood that he has proved, by mathematical reasoning, that this system
never wiUy nor ever can, come to an end. The amount of his truly sublime
discovery is, that the system does not, as Newton imagined, contain within
itself, like the workmanship of mortal hands, the dements of its own decay ;
and that, therefore, its final dissolution is to be looked for, not from the
operation of physical causes, subjected to the calculations of astronomers,
but from the will of that Almighty Being, by whose fiat it was at first
called into existence. That this stability is a necessary consequence of
the general laws by which we find the system to be governed, may, indeed,
be assumed as a demonstrated proposition ; but it must always be remem-
bered, that this necessity is only hypothetical or conditional, being itself de-
pendent on the continuance of laws, which may at pleasure be altered or
suspended.

The whole of the argument in the text, on the permanence or stability
of the order of nature, is manifestly to be understood with similar restric-
tions. It relates, not to necessary, hut, to prohaUe truths ; not to conclusions
syllogistically deduced from abstract principles, but to future contingen
cies, which we are determined to expect by a fundamental law of belief
adapted to the present scene of our speculations and actions.

47a BEA.80NINa AND DEDUCTITB SYIDEKCE.

' tnme, that the material universe, with all its constant and har-
monious laws, was purposely arranged.

Popular superstitions founded on the uniformity of the laws
of nature. — To a hastj and injudicious application of* the same
belief, in anticipating the future course of human affairs, might
be traced a variety of popular superstitions, which have pre-
vailed, in a greater or less degree, in all nations and ages ;
those superstitions, for example, which have given rise to the
study of charms, of omens, of astrology, and the different arts
of divination. But the argument has been already prosecuted
as far as its connection with this part of the subject requires.
For a fuller illustration of it, I refer to some remarks on page
217, on the superstitious observances which, among rude na-
tions, are constantly found blended with the practice of physic ;
and which, contemptible and ludicrous as they seem, have an
obvious foundation, during the infancy of human reason, in
those important principles of our nature, which, when duly dis-
ciplined by a more enlarged experience, lead to the sublime
discoveries of inductive science.

Nor is it to the earlier stages of society, or to the lower
classes of the people, that these superstitions are confined.
Even in the most enlightened and refined periods, they occa-
sionally appear ; exercising, not unfrequently, over men of the
highest genius and talents, an ascendant which is at once con-
solatory and humiliating to the species.

"Ecce fulgurum monitus, oraculorum prsescita, aruspicum
praedicta, atque etiam parva dictu in auguriis, stern utamenta et
offensiones pedum. Divus Augustus Isevum prodidit sibi calceum
praepostere inductum, quo die seditione militari prope afflictus
est." [Consider the warnings of thunder, the presages of ora-
cles, the predictions of soothsayers, and even such insignificant
circumstances in augury as sneezing and stumbling. The em-
peror Augustus said, he put on his left shoe instead of his right,
on the day when he nearly perished in a mutiny.] (Plin. 27aL
Hist. lib. ii.)

"Dr. Johnson," says his affectionate and very communica-
tive biographer, " had another particularity, of which none of

REASONING AND DEDUCTIVE EVIDENCE. 479

hifl friends ever ventured to ask an explanation. It appeared
to me some superstitious habit, which he had contracted early^
and from which he had never .called upon his reason to disen-
tangle him. This was his anxious care to go out or in at a
door or passage, by a certain number of steps from a certain
point, or at least, so as that either his right or his left foot (I
am not certain which) should constantly make the first actual
movement wh^i he came close to the door or passage. Thus I
conjecture ; for I have, upon innumerable occasions, observed
him suddenly stop, and then seem to count his steps with a deep
earnestness ; and when he had neglected or gone wrong in this
sort of magical movement, I have seen him go back again, put
himself in a proper posture to begin the ceremony, and having
gone through it, break from his abstraction, walk briskly on,
and join his companion."

The remark may appear somewhat out of place, but, after
the last quotation, I may be permitted to say, that the person
to whom it relates, great as his powers and splendid as his ac-
complishments undoubtedly were, was scarcely entitled to
assert, that '^ Education is as well known, and has long been as
well known, as ever it can be." What a Ihnited estimate of
the objects of education must this great man have formed !
They who know the value of a well regulated and unclouded
mind, would not incur the weakness and wretchedness exhibited
in the foregoing description, for all his literary acquirements
and literary fame.

3. General remarks on the difference between the evidence of
experience, and that of analogy* — According to the account of
experience which has been hitherto given, its evidence reaches
no further than to an anticipation of the future from the past, in
cases where the same physical cause continues to operate in exactly
the same circumstances. That this statement is agreeable to the
strict philosophical notion of experience, will not be disputed.
Wherever a change takes place, either in the cause itself, or in
the circumstances combined with it in our former trials, the an-
ticipations which we form of the future cannot with propriet^^
be referred to experience alone, but to experience cooperating

480 BBA80HIN0 AND DEDUCTITE EVIDENCS.

With some other principles of our nature. In common discourse,
however, precision in the use of language is not to be expected,
where logical or metaphysical ideas are at all concerned ; and
therefore, it is not to be wondered at, that the word experience '
should often be employed with a latitude greatly beyond what
the former definition authorizes. When I transfer, for example,
my conclusions concerning the descent of heavy bodies from
one stone to another stone, or even from a stone to a leaden
bullet, my inference might be said, with sufficient accuracy for
the ordinary purposes of speech, to have the evidence of expe-
rience in its favor ; if, indeed, it would not savor of scholastic
affectation to aim at a more rigorous enunciation of the propo-
sition. Nothing at the same time can be more evident than
this, that the slightest shade of difference which tends to weaken
the resemblance, or rather to destroy the identity of two cases,
invalidates the inference from the one to the other, as far as it
rests an experience soldy^ no less than the most prominent dis-
similitudes which characterize the different kingdoms and de-
partments of nature.

Upon what ground do I ccmclude that the thrust of a sword
through my body, in a particular direction, would be followed
by instant death ? According to the popular use of language,
the obvious answer would be, — upon experience, and experi-
ence alone. But surely this account of the matter is extremely
loose and incorrect ; for where is the evidence that the internal
structure of my body bears any resemblance to that of any of
the other bodies which have been hitherto examined by anato-
mists ? It is no answer to this question to tell me, that the
experience of these anatomists has ascertained a unifomaity of
structure in every human subject which has as yet been dis-
sected ; and that therefore I am justified in concluding, that my
body forms no exception to the general rule. My question does
not relate to the soundness of this inference, but to the princi-
ple of my nature, which leads me thus not only to reason firom
the past to the future, but to reason from one thing to another
which, in its external marks, bears a certain degree of resem-
blance to it. Something more than experience, in the strictest

BEJLSOlfIKO AND DEDUCTIYB EVIDBNOE. 481

Beiise of that word, is sorely necessarj to explain the transitioa
from what is idendcaUj the same, to what is only similar ; and
yet my inference in this instance is made with the most assured
and unqualified confidence in the infaUibility of the result. No
inference, founded on the most direct and long continued expe-
rienoe, nor indeed any proposition established by mathematical
demonstration, could more imperiously command my assent

In whatever manner the province of experience, strictly so
called, comes to be thus enlarged, it is perfectly manifest, that
without some provision for this purpose, the principles of our
constitution would not have been duly adjusted to the scene in
which we have to act. Were we not so formed as eagerly to
seize the resembling features of different things and different
events, and to extend our conclusions from the individual to the
species, life would elapse before we had acquired the first rudi*»
ments of that knowledge which is essential to the preservation
of our animal existence.

This step in the history of the human mind has been little, if
at all, attended to by philosophers ; and it is certainly not easy
to explain, in a manner completely satisfactory, how it is made.
The following hints seem to me to go a considerable way
towards a solution of the difficulty.

How experieTice is made to extend to ectses not preciseh/ parcd^
UL — It is remarked by Mr. Smith, in his considerations on the
formation of languages, that the origin of genera and species,
which is commonly represented in the schools as the effect of
an intellectual process peculiarly mysterious and unintelligible,
is a natural consequence of our dUpodUon to tramfer to a new
object the name of any other familiar object y which possesses such
a decree of resemblance to it as to serve the memory for an asso-
dating tie between them. It is in this manner, he has shown,
and not by any formal or scientific exercise of abstraction, that,
in the infancy of language, proper names are gradually trans-
formed into appellatives; or, in other words, that individusd
things come to be referred to classes or assortments.

This remark becomes, in my opinion, much more luminous
and important, by being combined with another very original

41

482 BBABONINO JLKD DEDUGTIYS SVIDENOB.

one, which is ascribed to Turgot by Condorcet, and which I dc
not recollect to have seen taken notice of by any later writer
on the human mind. According to the common doctrine of
logicians, we are led to suppose, that our knowledge begins in an
accurate and minute aequainianee with the eharacteristical
properiiei of individual ohjeete; and that it is onljbj the«low
exercise of comparison and abstraction, that we attain to the
notion of classes or genera. In opposition to this idea, it was
a maxim of Turgot's, that some of <mr most ahstraet and gen-
eral notions are among the earliest which we form. What
meaning he annexed to this maxim, we are not informed ; but
if he understood it in the same sense in which I am disposed
to interpret it, he appears to me entitled to the credit of a yery
valuable suggestion with respect to the natural progress of
human knowledge. The truth is, that our first perceptions lead
us invariaUy to confound together things which have very little
in common ; and that the specifical differences of individuals
do not begin to be marked with precision, till the powers of ob-
servation and reasoning have attained to a certain degree of
maturity. To a similar indistinctness of perception, are to be
ascribed the mistakes about the most familiar appearances
which we daily see committed by those domesticated animals
with whose instincts and habits we have an opportunity of be-
coming intimately acquainted. As an instance of this, it is
sufficient to mention the terror which a horse sometimes dis-
covers in passing, on the road, a large stone, or the waterfall of
a mill.

Two hinds of general notions. — Notwithstanding, however,
the justness of this maxim, it is nevertheless true, that every
scientific classification must he founded on an examination and
comparison of individuals* These individuals must, in the
first instance, have been observed with accuracy, before their
specific characteristics could be rejected from the generic
description, so as to limit the attention to the cx)mmon qualities
which it comprehends. What are usually called general ideas^
or general notions, are therefore of two kinds, essentially differ-
ent from each otfier ; those which are general, merely tixiin the

BEASONING AJfB BEBUCTIYE BTIDENGE. 483

vagueness and imperfection of our information ; and those which
have been methodically generalized, in the way explained by
logicians, in consequence of aa abstraction founded on a care-
ful study of particulars. Philosophical precision requires, that
two sets of notions, so totally dissimilar, should not be con-
founded together ; and an attention to the distinction between
them will be found to throw much light on various important
steps in the natural history of the mind.*

Our disposition to confound things which are reaUy differ'
ent. — One obvious effect of the grossness and vagueness in the
perceptions of the inexperienced observer, must necessarily be,
to identify, under the same common appellations, immense mul-
titudes of individuals, which the philosopher will afterwards
find reason to distinguish carefully from each other; and as
language, by its unavoidable reaction on thought, never fails to
restore to it whatever imperfections it has once received, all
the indistinctness which, in the case of individual observers,
originated in an ill-informed judgment, or in a capricious fancy,
comes afterwards, in succeeding ages, to be entailed on the
infant understanding, in consequence of its incorporation with
vernacular speech. These confused apprehensions produced
by language must, it is easy to see, operate exactly in the

* The distinction above stated, furnishes what seems to me the true
answer to an argument which Charron, and many other writers since his
time, have drawn, in proof of the reasoning powers of brutes, from the
universal conclusions which they appear to found on the observation of
particulars. [" Brutes form general conclusions from particular objects ;
for, from the appearance of one man, they recognize all men."]

Instead of saying that brutes generalize things which are similar,
would it not be nearer the truth to say, that they confound things which
are diflfercnt.

Many years after these observations were written, I had the satisfaction
to meet with the following experimental confirmation of them in the Abbe
Sicard's Course of Instruction for the Deaf and Dumb : [" I observed that
Massieu preferred giving the same name, as a common name, to several
individuals, among which he saw some points of resemblance ; partic-
ular names supposed differences among them which 'he had not yet oh*
served."] — (Sicard, pp. 30, 31.) The whole of the passage is well wortfi
consulting.

484 BBJLsoirnrG and deductive etidencb.

Bame waj as the undistinguishing perceptions of children or
savages; the familiar use of a generic word insensibly and
irresistibly leading the mind to extend its conclusions from the
individual to the genus, and thus laying the foundation of con-
clusions and anticipations, which we suppose to rest on experi-
ence, when, in truth, experience has never been consulted.

In all such instances, it is worthy of observation, we proceed
ultimately on the common principle, — that in similar circum-
stances, the same cause will produce the same effects; and
when we err, the source of our error lies merely in identifying
different cases which ought to be distinguished from each other.
Great as may be the occasional inconveniences arising from
this general principle thus misapplied, they bear no proportion
to the essential advantages resulting from the disposition, ir
which they originate, to arrange and to classify ; a disposition
on which (as I have elsewhere shown) the intellectual improve-
ment of the species in a great manner hinges. That the con-
stitution of our nature in this respect is, on the whole, wisely
ordered, as well as perfectly comformable to the general econ-
omy of our frame, will appear from a slight survey of some
other principles, nearly allied to those which are at present
under our consideration.

It has been remarked by some eminent writers in this part
of the island, that our expectation of the continuance of the
laws of nature has a very close affinity to our faith in human
testimony. The parallel might perhaps be carried, without
any over refinement, a little further than these writers have
attempted; inasmuch as, in both cases, the instinctive prin-
ciple is in the first instance unlimited, and requires, for its cor
rection and regulation, the lessons of subsequent experience
As the credulity of children is originally without bounds, ant
is afterwards gradually checked by the examples which the^
occasionally meet with of human falsehood, so, in the infanc}
of our knowledge, whatever objects or events present to oui
senses a strong resemblance to each other, dispose us, without
any very accurate examination of the minute details by which
they may be reallj discriminated, to conclude with eagernesi"

BEASONIKO JLUfD DEDUCTIYB EYIDEKGE. 485

ti«.4» the experiments and observations which we make with
respect to one individual, maj be safelj extended to the whole
class. It iA experience alone that teaches us caution in such
inferences, and subjects the natural principle to the discipline
prescribed by the rules of induction.

Bow this disposition is corrected. — It must not, however, be
imagined, that, in instances of this sort, the instinctive principle
always leads us astray ; for the analogical anticipations which
it disposes us to form, although they may not stand the test of
a rigorous examination, may yet be sufficienUy just for all the
common purposes of life. It is natural, for example, that a
man who has been educated in Europe should expect, when he
changes his residence to any of the other quarters of the globe,
to see heavy bodies fall downwards, and smoke to ascend, agree-
ably to the general laws to which he has been accustomed ; and
that he should take for granted, in providing the means of his
subsistence, that the animals and vegetables which he has found
to be salutary and nutritious in his native regions, possess the
same qualities wherever they exhibit the same appearances.
Kor are such expectations less useful than natural ; for they are
completely realized^ as far as they minister to the gratification
of our more urgent wants. It is only when we begin to indulge
our curiosity with respect to those nicer details, which derive
their interest from great i*efinement in the arts, or from a very
advanced state of physical knowledge, that we discover our first
conclusions, however just in the main, not to be mathematically
exact; and are led by those habits which scientific pursuits
conununicate, to investigate the diflference of circumstances
to which the variety in the result is owing. After having
found that heavy bodies fall downwards at the equator
as they do in. this island, the most obvious, and perhaps, on
a superficial view of the question, the most reasonable, infer-
ence would be, that the same pendulum which swings seconds
at London, will vibrate at the same rate under the line. In
this instance, however, the theoretical inference is contradicted
by the fact; — but the contradiction is attended with no
practical ^convenience to the multitude, while, in the mind

41*

486 BiAflOimie akd deductite ejidence.

of the phUoic^her, it oaly terves to awaken his attention tc
the different circumstances of the two cases, and, in the last re-
sult, throws a new lustre on the simplicitj and uniformity of
that law, fiom which it seemed, at first sight, an anomalous
deviation.

MiuiraUon from tbs uniformi^ of the laws of fframmar, —
To this uniformitj in the laws which regulate the order of phys-
ical events, there is something extremely similar in the system-
atical regularity (subject indeed to many exceptions) which,
in every language, however imperfect, runs through the diifer-
Mit classes of its words, in respect of their inflexions, forms of
derivation, and other verbal filiations or affinities. How much
this regularity or analogy (as it is called by grammarians), con-
tributes to facilitate the acquisition of dead and foreign lan-
guages, every person, who has received a liberal education,
knows from his own experience. Nor is it less manifest, that
the same circumstance must contribute powerfully to aid the
memories of children in learning to speak their mother-tongue.
It is not my present business to trace the principles in the hu-
man mind by which it is produced. All that I would remark
is, the very early period at which it is seized by children ; as is
strongly evinced by their dispositi(»i to push it a great deal too
far, in their first attempts towards speech. This disposition
seems to be closely connected with that which leads them to
repose &uth in testimony ; and it also bears a striking resem-
blance to that which prompts them to extend their past expe-
rience to those objects and events of which they had not hitherto
had any means of acquiring a direct knowledge. It is proba-
ble, indeed, that our expectation, in all these cases, has its ori-
gin in the same common principles of our nature ; and it is
certain, that, in all of them, it is subservient to the important
purpose of facilitating the progress of the mind. Of this no-
body can doubt, who considers for a moment, that the great end
to be first accomplished was manifestly the communication of
the general rule ; the acquisition of the exceptions (a knowl-
edge of which is but of secondary importance) being safely
intrusted to the growing diligence and capacity of tbQ learner.

BXAsoHora and DBDvcTnnB xyiDBirox* 487

The eomiderations now stated, may help us to oonceire in
what maimer conclusions derived from experience come to be
insensibly extended from the individual to the species ; partly
in consequence of the gross and undistinguishing nature of our
first perceptions, and partly in consequence of the magical in-
fluence of a commcm name. They seem also to show, that this
natural process of thought, though not always justified by a
^und logic, is not without its use in the infancy of human
knowledge.

4. Eoidenee of testimony tcudHy recognized as a ground of be-'
lief in our most certain conehisioM concerning contingent truths,
— In some of the conclusions which have been already under
our consideration with respect to ccmtingent truths, a specif of
evidence is admitted, of which no mention has hitherto been
made ; 1 mean the evidence of testimony. In ^tstronomical cal-
culations, for example, how few are the instances in which the
data rest on the evidence of our own senses ; and yet our con-
fidence in the result is not, on that account, in the smallest de-
gree weakened. On the contrary, what certainty can be more
complete than that with which we look forward to an eclipse of
the sun or -the moon, on the £Euth of elements and of computa-
tions which we have never verified, axid for the accuracy of
which we have no ground of assurance whatever, but the scien-
tific reputation of the writers from whom we have borrowed
them. An astronomer who should affect any skepticism with
respect to an event so predicted, would render himself no less
an object of ridicule, than if he were disposed to cavil about
the certainty of the sun's rising to-morrow.

Even in pure mathematics, a similar regard to testimony, ao-
companied with a similar faith in the faculties of others, is by
no means uncommon. Who would scruple, in a geometrical
investigation, to adopt as a link in the chain, a theorem of Apoi-
lonius or of Archimedes, although he might not have leisure at
the moment to satisfy himself by an actual examination of their
demonstrations, that they had been guilty of no paralogism,
either from accident or design, in the course of their reasonings ^

488 BBA80KIKO AND DEDUCTIVE EYIDENCE.

Difference between the logical and the popular meaning of the
word probability. — In our anticipations of astronomical phe-
nomena, as well as in those which we form concerning the result
of any familiar experiment in physics, philosophers are accus-
tomed to speak of the event as only probable^ although our con-
fidence in its happening is not less complete than if it rested on
the basis of mathematical demonstration. The word probable,
therefore, when thus used, does not imply any deficiency in ihs
proof, but only marks the particular nature of that proof as con-
tradistinguished from another species of evidence. It is opposed,
not to what is certain, but to what admits of being demonstrated
afler the manner of mathematicians. This differs ^ddelj from
the meaning annexed to the same word in popular discourse :
according to which, whatever event is said to be probable^ is un-
derstood to be expected with some degree of doubt. ^ As cer-
tain as death " — ^ as certain as . the rising of the sun " — are
proverbial modes of expression in all countries ; and they are
both of them, borrowed from events which, in philosophical lan-
guage, are only probable or contingent In like manner, the
existence of the city of Pekin, and the reality of Caesar's assas-
sination, which the philosopher classes with probabilities, because
they rest solely upon the evidence of testimony, are universally
classed with certainties by the rest of mankind ; and in any
case but the statement of a logical theory, the application to
such truths of the word probaUe, would be justly regarded as
an impropriety of speech. This difference between the techni-
cal meaning of the word probability, as employed by logicians,
and the notion usually attached to it in the business of life,
together with the erroneous theories concerning the nature of
demonstration, which I have already endeavored to refute, —
have led many authors of the highest name, in some of the
most important arguments which- can employ human reason, to
overlook that irresistible evidence which was placed before their
eyes, in search of another mode of proof altogether unattaina-
ble in moral inquiries, and which, if it could be attained, would
not be less liable to the cavils of skeptics.

BEASONING AKD BEptJCTIYE EVIDENCE. 489

But although, in philosophical language, the epithet probable
he applied to events which are acknowledged to he certain, it is
also applied to those events which are called probable by the
vulgar. The philosophical meaning of the word, therefore, is
more comprehensive than the popular; the former denoting
that particular species of evidence of which contingent truths
admit ; the latter being confined to such degrees of this evidence
as fall short of the highest. These different degrees of proba-
bility the philosopher considers as a series, beginning with bare
possibiltti/y and terminating in that apprehended infaUibility with
which the phrase moral certainty is synonymous. To this last
term of the series, the word probable is, in its ordinary accepta-
tion, plainly inapplicable.

The satisfaction which the astronomer derives from the exact
coincidence, in point of time, between his theoretical predictions
concerning the phenomena of the heavens, and the correspond-
ing events when they actually occur, does not imply the smallest
doubt, on his part, of the constancy of the laws of nature. It
resolves partly into the pleasure of arriving at the knowledge
of the same truth or of the same fact by different media ; but
chiefly into the gratifying assurance which he thus receives, of
the correctness of his principles, and of the competency of the
human faculties to these sublime investigations. What «xquis-
ite delight must La Place have felt, when, by deducing from
the theory of gravitation the cause of the acceleration of the
moon's mean motion — an acceleration which proceeds at the
rate of little more than 11" i© a century, — he accounted, with
such mathematical precision, for all the recorded observations
of the place from the infancy of astronomical science ! It is
from the length and abstruseness, however, of the reasoning
process, and from the powerful effect produced on the imagina-
tion, by a calculus which brings into immediate contrast with
the immensity of time such evanescent elements as the frac-
tional parts of a second, that the coincidence between the com-
putation and the event appears in this instance so peculiarly
striking. In other respects, our confidence in the future result

490 BBASONmO AKD DBDUCTITE ETIDEKCB.

rests on the aame principle with our expectation that the sun
will rise to-morrow at a particular instant ; and, aeeordinglj,
now that the correctness of the theory has been so wonderftillj
▼erified bj a comparison with facts, the one erent is expected
with Bo less assurance than the other*

i*s.

The borrower must return this item on or before
the last date stamped below. If another user
places a recall for this item, the borrower will
be notified of the need for an earlier return.

Non-receipt of overdue notices does not exempt
the borrower from overdue fines.

Harvard Cdlege Widener Library
Cambridge, MA 02138 617-495-2413

Please handle with care.

Thank you for helping to presorve
library collections at Harvard.